Just another pleasant evening, and I took my four-year-old daughter, Ruhi, to the park — our everyday ritual. She loved swings and slides. Once she was done with the swings, she rushed to her favourite red slide while I sat on a nearby bench, chatting with other mothers.

Suddenly, the children started running away from someone, crying and searching for their mothers.

“Monster… Monster… Mummy, save me!” Ronit screamed while running.

Our hearts skipped a beat.

A child-snatcher, maybe, we thought.

My eyes searched desperately for Ruhi.

“Where is she? Oh God! Has she been kidnapped?” I ran towards the red slide, scanning the park for someone running away with my baby — a mother’s worst nightmare.

As I neared the slide, I saw Ruhi sitting at the end of it, taking something from the “monster.”

“Ruhi, NOOOO! Don’t take it!” I shouted, but she didn’t hear me.

Then I finally saw the “monster.”

A little girl, about Ruhi’s age, sat quietly beside her mother. She had a double cleft lip. Ruhi wasn’t taking anything from her; she was sharing her chocolate with her. Both girls were smiling while the child’s mother sat beside them with tears rolling down her cheeks.

Ruhi turned to me happily. “Mumma, see, my friend.”

My special child had finally found a friend. I sat beside them as Ruhi introduced me to the same girl everyone had called a monster moments ago.

“Mumma, her name is Zooni. I shared my chocolate with her. Good?” she asked.

“Very good, Ruhi,” I replied, fighting my own tears.

Zooni’s mother was crying because Ruhi, my special child, saw nothing imperfect in her daughter, unlike the rest of the world — even her own family. For the first time, Zooni wasn’t just smiling; she was laughing freely.

My special child is special for a reason. Her eyes don’t see the world as we do. ❤️💚🧡

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Illustration Credit: Shivani Akant

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