Small Repetitions

Mio practiced her signs every night.

Not for long—just ten minutes before bed. Sometimes longer if she got stuck. She stood in front of her mirror, hands moving slowly, mouthing the words as she learned them.

Hello.

How was your day?

Are you tired?

She messed them up constantly.

Her wrist turned the wrong way. Her fingers were too stiff. Sometimes she forgot the shape entirely and had to pause the video, sighing in frustration.

Still, she kept going.

The next day, she tried the same signs with Haru.

They weren’t perfect. She knew that.

But Haru noticed.

“You remembered,” he said softly.

Her eyes widened. “I did?”

“Yes.”

Mio felt warmth spread through her chest. “I’ll get better.”

Haru nodded. “You already are.”

She clutched that sentence carefully, the way you hold something fragile so it doesn’t break.