Little nova

The sterile scent of the hospital still clung to Zoid's clothes, a faint reminder of the sterile, yet miraculous, journey they had just completed. But now, the air in their shared apartment was different. It hummed with a new kind of quiet, a profound stillness punctuated by the softest of breaths. Little Nova, their tiny, perfect daughter, was finally home.

Zoid cradled the swaddled bundle against their chest, the warmth seeping through the layers of fabric and into their own skin. Nova’s face, impossibly small and delicate, was turned away, her wispy dark hair catching the soft lamplight. Zoid traced the curve of her ear with a fingertip, a tremor of awe running through them. This was real. This tiny human, born from their love, was real.

Luke sat beside them on the plush sofa, his usual polished demeanor softened by an overwhelming tenderness. His emerald eyes, usually so bright and alert, were now fixed on Nova with a gaze so full of adoration it was almost tangible. He reached out, his large hand hovering, then gently stroked Nova’s cheek with the back of his thumb. A tiny sigh escaped the baby, and her fingers, no bigger than grains of rice, twitched against Luke’s touch.