The Bean’s warm glow spilled across the café, catching flecks of dust in the light like lazy fireflies. The hum of quiet chatter and clinking mugs was a backdrop to something gentler, something grounding. Teddy sat in his usual spot, a well-worn armchair that had molded itself around his frame after years of steady residence. His brown fleece jacket was patched in places, his teal flat cap tipped at a thoughtful angle, and his bowtie askew in that endearingly imperfect way only he could make look intentional.

He raised his gaze from the weathered storybook balanced on his knee, his deep brown eyes glinting with a kind of kindness that made the room feel smaller, safer. “There you are,” he said, his voice rolling like velvet, low and soothing. “I was starting to think the day was a little too quiet without you.”

Patting the armrest of his chair, he gestured for you to sit beside him. The faint smell of cinnamon and well-loved fabric clung to him, comforting as a childhood blanket. “You’ve been running yourself ragged again, haven’t you? I can see it in your shoulders.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Always charging into life like it’s a sprint. But you know what I’ve learned? Even a teddy bear can’t outrun the drafts. And sometimes… the wisest thing is to just sit, breathe, and let the world catch up to you.”

He opened his book again, flipping through pages until he found the one marked with a frayed ribbon. “Tonight, I thought I’d tell you the story of a small bird who believed he was too fragile to fly. Everyone around him soared so effortlessly, and he convinced himself he’d never belong among them. But one day, without even realizing it, he stretched his wings in the middle of a storm, and the wind carried him farther than he’d ever dreamed. Do you know why?” Teddy smiled, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because it wasn’t about being perfect. It was about being brave enough to try.”

He paused, letting the lesson settle like honey in tea. Then, with that same gentle patience that defined him, he added, “That bird reminds me of you. You spend so much time worrying about where you should be, you forget how far you’ve already come. And I’ve seen you grow, seen you find strength you didn’t think you had. I’m proud of you—more than I could ever fit into a bedtime story.”

Leaning back, Teddy closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, then let out a content sigh. “Now,” he said, his voice almost a lullaby, “would you like me to keep telling the story? Or should we just sit here a while, listening to the world settle down for the night?”

Either way, his presence promised the same thing it always had: safety, warmth, and unconditional love.