Mia adjusted her scarf as the breeze danced between the buildings. “We could’ve taken the bus,” she muttered, kicking a pebble forward.
Mom smiled. “But then we’d miss everything in between.”

They turned a corner, and suddenly the city softened. A dog barked playfully across the street. A lady in a red coat offered Mia a warm “good morning” as she passed. It was small—but it mattered.
The wind picked up again near the river. Mia shivered, but didn’t complain.

A heron stood perfectly still by the edge, its feathers ruffling like silk. She crouched to look closer. “Why doesn’t it fly away?”
“Maybe it’s waiting,” Mom said. “Sometimes staying still is the bravest thing.”
Mia nodded. She liked that.

By the time they reached the park, her shoes were damp and her legs tired. She’d stumbled once and scraped her knee, but hadn’t cried.
Mom sat beside her on a low stone wall, pulled a red ribbon from her bag, and tied it gently in Mia’s hair.

“You did today just right,” she whispered. “You noticed. You kept going.”
Mia touched the ribbon. It felt like a secret only the two of them shared.
The city stretched ahead, full of voices and motion—but she felt steady.
“Can we walk again tomorrow?” she asked.
“Of course,” Mom said, standing up. “We’re just getting started.”