"I never imagined I'd become a father at such a tender age…"
The room felt like it belonged to another time—silent, formal, quietly breathing. At Juyayo, the Department of Adoption for Abandoned Children, the stillness was not empty but watchful. The soft hum of the overhead lights mingled with the rustling of old papers, and there was that distinct scent of ink and something older—like a schoolhouse at dusk, or the room of a forgotten librarian.
Subhadip sat quietly, as if the chair itself had grown used to waiting. His eyes weren't restless. They held the quietness of someone who had seen storms pass, and chose stillness instead.
Himiko, sitting beside him, gently touched his arm.
"It's our turn," she said softly. "Let's go."
He turned to her. Her gaze—deep, serene, full of light—held his for a moment longer than speech could manage. In it was a world. And yet, somehow, it wasn't too much. It just was.
Then a small hand tugged at his sleeve.
Yamiya.
She looked up at him with eyes full of questions too large for her age.
"Su… what are we gonna do?"
Subhadip knelt, brought his face close to hers.
"Don't you want to stay with us?" he asked.
She nodded. Not eagerly, not nervously—just honestly.
"Yes."
So they walked in—hand in hand—into the certifier's chamber.
The room was filled with dim gold light, casting long shadows on the green-topped desk. The certifier glanced at them over his glasses. He looked older than the building, worn like stone stairs.
"Name?" he asked, voice low.
"Subhadip Seal."
A flicker. A recognition. Something shifted in the air.
"So… you're the Governor. That explains it. Without that title, a sixteen-year-old boy couldn't possibly be standing here like this."
Subhadip smiled faintly but said nothing.
The certifier snapped the file shut. "By law, you're far too young to adopt. But status… bends the law's iron spine, doesn't it?"
He leaned forward, voice softer now. "Still, one thing remains untouched—the child's will. She must choose you, not the law."
Subhadip looked at Yamiya.
She met his gaze, silent as the dusk outside. And then—she nodded. Small, steady.
The certifier looked over his glasses again, more curious now than official.
"Curious… There's no missing report. No family record. Not even a trace in the shared cosmos. She is… a free soul."
He tapped the file, then pushed it aside.
"Very well. Proceed."
He uncapped a pen, and with the gravity of a man writing fate, asked,
"Names of adoptive parents?"
"Subhadip Seal," said the boy, steady as a monument.
"Himiko," said the woman beside him, her voice like the first drop of rain on parched earth.
Then, in clean, careful strokes, Subhadip wrote:
Child's name: Yamiya Seal.
---
Evening had changed by the time they stepped outside. The sky glowed with a soft orange hue, brushed gently by winds from other worlds. The air smelled of sugar, steam, and something bright—perhaps hope.
Yamiya tugged at both their hands.
"Can we go somewhere?" she asked shyly, hesitant as if asking for something forbidden.
Himiko knelt beside her. "Where, sweetheart?"
"I heard… there's a place where children laugh. Where there's music… rides… like Earth, from the stories."
Subhadip smiled.
"You mean an amusement park?"
She nodded, almost afraid to believe.
"Then let's take you somewhere magical."
---
The sky-train they boarded was made of glass and light. It shimmered like a dream as it glided along tracks woven through the stars of the Multiversal Capital—Zolito.
Buildings changed shape at a thought. Lanterns followed them like loyal fireflies.
At the city's heart stood TerraJoy—an Earth-style amusement park crafted not just with technology, but with nostalgia. The past reimagined for all time.
There were carousel horses that floated, cotton candy that sang lullabies, coasters that matched your heartbeat, and a ferris wheel that showed you the sky not just above, but within.
Yamiya didn't speak at first. She just stared—wide-eyed, mouth slightly open.
"I think…" she whispered, "this is my favourite world."
---
Later, Himiko and Yamiya sat beneath a tree that shimmered like glass catching moonlight. The leaves chimed gently in the breeze.
Subhadip had gone to fetch ice cream.
At a pastel-coloured cart, he saw a father scolding his son for dropping a scoop.
"You're always making a mess."
But the mother, handing over another cone, said gently,
"He's just excited. Let him be."
Subhadip smiled. A soft, distant smile.
"Isn't a family… beautiful?"
The woman looked at him, surprised, then nodded.
"Yes. It really is."
"You must love them very much."
"With everything," she said.
"And I love mine," he replied, "with all I have."
The man, now calmer, asked, "Where are you from?"
"Zolito, now," said Subhadip. "But my wife—she's from the Olo Universe."
The woman lit up. "So are we! We came six years ago."
And they began to talk—of wind festivals, floral milk, and the crystal skies of Olo. Of homes that stretched beyond borders.
Then from across the square came a familiar teasing voice:
"How long does it take to get three cones, Governor?"
Subhadip raised the cones in triumph.
"Coming, Commander!"
The couple laughed. The woman handed him an extra napkin.
"Good luck," she said warmly.
"You too," Subhadip said. "May your little one stay joyfully messy."
---
He returned to the bench. Himiko took her cone and shared it with him. Yamiya licked hers quickly, trying to catch the melting joy before it vanished.
Then she pointed, eyes lit up.
"The Mary-Go-Round!"
It spun gently nearby, its pastel lights glowing like lullabies. The music was soft, a tune out of time.
"Can we go?"
Subhadip rose with her. "Of course."
They climbed the rose-gold platform. Yamiya chose a moon-horse, Subhadip a lion, Himiko a swan.
As the ride began to move, slow and tender, under a sky filled with stars and wishes, Yamiya stretched out her arms toward them both.
They reached back. Their hands met softly in the middle.
And as the world spun gently around them, Subhadip didn't think of status or laws, or the strange journey that had led them here.
He thought only of this moment.
Of her.
Of them.
And for the first time in a very long while…
He felt whole.