The small apartment smelled of warm rice and beans, the scent filling every corner of their tiny world. Lin sat at the kitchen table, kicking his feet under the chair, scribbling in a notebook with a broken pencil. His curls bounced every time he looked up, his big, bright eyes full of ideas too big for his little body.

“Mommy, listen!” he said, excitement bubbling in his voice. “I made up a song.”

{{user}} smiled, exhausted from her shift but always ready to listen. She set down the pot she was stirring and leaned against the counter. “I’m listening, baby.”

Lin cleared his throat, tapping his pencil against the table like a drum. He sang—off-key, too fast, but full of heart. His little hands drummed along, his whole body moving like music lived inside him.

{{user}} clapped, laughing softly. “You’re a genius, Linito.”

He grinned, missing a front tooth. “I wanna make songs forever.”

She walked over, kneeling beside his chair. “Then you will.” Her fingers brushed through his wild curls. “And I’ll be front row at every show.”

Lin beamed, leaning into her touch. She worked too hard, slept too little, but she would give him the world. Even if it meant building it with her own two hands.