Time is a strange thing when you're a baby.
Some days stretched forever — naps, bottles, diapers, and my sisters crowding around me as if I were some exotic pet. Other days flew by, filled with laughter and chaos until my eyelids betrayed me and I drifted back to sleep.
But even as a baby, I never forgot.
I never forgot the truck, the regret, the crying voice — and that smile.
If this world had magic, then it was the bridge. The only thing that might let me see them again.
Still, that didn't change one inconvenient fact: I had the body of a potato.
---
It happened one sunny afternoon in the nursery.
"Dance, Zackie, dance!" Clara twirled like a whirlwind in her frilly dress, knocking over a stack of pillows. At ten years old, she already thought she was the world's star performer.
I sat in my crib, bottle in hand, staring blankly.
"See? He's mesmerized by me," Clara declared proudly.
"He's not mesmerized, he's drooling." Lina, age eight, giggled while poking my cheek.
"Shut up! You're just jealous because he likes me more!" Clara huffed.
Their bickering continued, voices rising like dueling trumpets. I sighed inwardly. Even as a baby, I knew peace was a luxury in this family.
And then — Clara snatched my bottle.
"Here, Zackie, let's dance together!"
The bottle slipped from her hand.
And floated.
Just for a second.
It wobbled in midair, shimmering faintly. Clara gasped, Lina squealed, and I stared with wide eyes, not daring to move.
The bottle hovered… and then bonked me right on the forehead.
"Uwaaahh!!" I burst into tears.
"ZACKIEEEEE, I'M SORRY!!" Clara panicked, flapping her arms like a bird.
"He did it! He totally did it!" Lina shouted, practically vibrating with excitement. "Our baby brother's a magician!"
---
That evening, Elena came in.
At twelve, Elena was already composed beyond her years, glasses perched perfectly on her nose, a thick tome tucked under her arm. Compared to her dramatic sisters, she was a fortress.
Clara and Lina tried reenacting the "floating bottle miracle," complete with sound effects. Elena didn't react.
She just stepped closer to my crib, crouched, and studied me in silence.
For a moment, her sharp eyes seemed to pierce right through me.
"…You did it, didn't you?" she whispered so softly only I could hear.
I froze.
But instead of pushing further, she stood, pushed her glasses up, and murmured, "Interesting." Then she left without another word.
---
From that day on, chaos became routine.
Clara constantly shoved ribbons in my hands. "Make it float, Zackie! Make it twirl like me!"
Lina tried sneaking me candles. "C'mon, blow it up!" (The maids nearly fainted when they caught us.)
Elena… she didn't ask for anything. But she always "accidentally" left books lying around. Heavy tomes filled with strange symbols, just within my crawling reach.
And whenever I managed the smallest flicker of magic — a toy floating, a rattle spinning, a feather drifting the wrong way — she would glance at me from the corner of her eye. Quiet. Calculating.
She knew.
---
But magic had its risks.
Once, I tried to lift all three of Clara's ribbons at once. My chest tightened, my head spun, and then—
That smile appeared.
My little sister's smile from my old world. Silent. Gentle. Almost as if whispering, "It's okay, big brother."
I clutched the ribbons harder, fighting through the dizziness until finally, the glow fizzled out.
I collapsed into the crib, panting. Clara squealed about "Zackie's new dance trick," Lina demanded a rematch with the ribbons, and Elena…
Elena simply adjusted her glasses.
---
Even in this world of laughter, wealth, and magic, I carried my determination.
I had to get stronger.
I had to master magic.
Because only then could I uncover the truth behind the two worlds — and maybe, just maybe… see that smile one last time.