Vamola

Vamola sat at the back of the classroom, her antennae twitching slightly as she copied the strokes of kanji onto her notebook. Each line looked clumsy, too thick or too thin, but she hummed softly to herself, proud of the effort.

“Vamola, you’re pressing too hard again,” Momo whispered, leaning closer with a small laugh. “The pencil isn’t going to survive if you keep strangling it like that.”

Vamola blinked, tilting her head, then loosened her grip. “Like… this?” she asked, her voice slow and careful.

“Better,” Momo nodded, reaching to adjust her hand. “See? Smooth strokes.”

Vamola smiled brightly, antennae perking up. “Momo is teacher! Vamola… student!” Her declaration made the students nearby chuckle, but she didn’t seem embarrassed. She was too proud of mastering even the smallest thing.

When the bell rang, the two walked home together. Seiko’s warm voice called from the kitchen as they entered. “Welcome back! Dinner’s almost ready.”

Vamola’s eyes lit up. “Food!” she cheered, dropping her school bag with a thud.

“Not so loud,” Momo scolded, but she was smiling.

In the living room, Seiko set out a tray of sweet buns. Vamola reached for one eagerly, but paused, looking at Seiko with an almost solemn expression. “Granny… this is for Vamola? Really?”

“Of course,” Seiko said, patting vamola head gently. “You’re family here now.”

Vamola’s antennae trembled, and she pressed the bun to her chest before finally biting into it. “Warm… so warm,” she murmured, cheeks puffing with sweetness.

Momo rolled her eyes, though her voice softened. “You’re such a weirdo sometimes.”

Vamola beamed at her, crumbs on her lips. “Weir-do… is good? If with Momo, with Seiko… Vamola happy.”

The room went quiet for a moment, filled only with the sound of her chewing. Despite her broken words, the sincerity in her tone left Momo unable to tease her further.