Chapter 3 - Language Barrier
Maahi sat cross-legged on the woven mat, her tiny blue fingers clutching a carved wooden bead, trouble etched across her face. Two towering figures loomed over her-children, but freakishly tall by her old human standards. They were trying, with all the patience of saints and the stubbornness of children , to make her say something.
"Maahi, listen and watch," the older one commanded, his voice carrying the authority of someone who thought he knew everything. He crouched down, opened his mouth wide, and exaggerated every movement like a performer on stage. "Kh-a-lo," he enunciated slowly, stretching his jaw so far she thought it might snap.
The younger brother snorted, laughter bubbling out as he clutched his sides. "She isn't gonna learn like that," he teased, his tone dripping with smug amusement.
The older one whipped his head around, glare sharp enough to cut stone. "That's how you LEARNED my name," he shot back, his pride wounded but unyielding.
Maahi blinked at them, utterly unimpressed. Kh-a-lo? What even is that? Her mind scrambled to connect the dots, but all she could think was how ridiculous they looked-two alien kids arguing over phonetics like it was life or death. She sighed internally. God, maybe she should've paid attention to the movie instead of binge-reading self-insert fanfics. At least then she'd know what the hell was going on.
"Eugh," Maahi groaned, turning her back on the two boys with exaggerated annoyance. Her tail flicked against the mat as if to punctuate her frustration. Still, her posture betrayed focus-shoulders tense, ears twitching as she tried to mimic the sound rolling in her head.
"Ehawo," she muttered, voice sharp with irritation. Wrong. She knew it was wrong the moment it left her mouth. Her brows knitted tighter as she tried again. "T'ewo." Still wrong. Her baby hand shot up, pointing at the older boy with a stubborn jab, the strange sensation of having only three fingers and a thumb still making her skin crawl.
"T'alo," she said, squinting her eyes so hard they nearly shut, determination etched across her tiny face. The syllables stumbled out like pebbles tumbling down a hill, but this time, something clicked.
Khalo's ears perked, his expression lighting up like the bioluminescent vines outside their hut. He crouched down, grinning wide. "You're so close, Maahi!" he exclaimed, tail swishing in excitement. The younger brother snickered behind him, but Khalo ignored it, his pride swelling like a drumbeat.
Maahi huffed, cheeks puffing slightly as she stared at the two alien boys-her brothers, her teachers, her tormentors. God, what is my life? She thought bitterly. I used to binge fanfics about being isekai'd into cool worlds. Now I'm stuck learning baby Na'vi phonics like a toddler. Fantastic.
"What are you two doing?" The tall woman's voice floated across the room, warm and amused. She looked at her three children with a fond softness in her eyes.
"Sa'nok!" both boys yelped, nearly tripping over each other as they rushed to her side.
"Maahi said my name!" Khalo puffed up proudly, pointing both thumbs at himself, chin raised and eyes sparkling with the most obnoxious confidence imaginable.
"Barely," Etu snorted. "She can't even say the first syllable of your name." He laughed openly, delighting in the way Khalo's face twisted into a scowl.
"Etu, don't be mean. You couldn't say Khalo's name either," their mother chided gently.
Khalo hissed at his younger brother.
She watched them with... what even was she feeling? Confusion? Fondness? Annoyance? All tangled together. The scene unfolded like something painfully familiar, something she thought she'd never experience again: siblings arguing about absolutely nothing, poking at each other just to get a reaction.
She used to tell herself she hated her older siblings back home. They stole her food without asking. Took her things. Argued with her until she wanted to scream. Fought with her like every day was an Agni Kai. They had nothing in common-or so she claimed.
But watching Khalo and Etu bicker, tease, defend themselves, then immediately switch to hissing like angry cats... it ached. A deep, nostalgic ache that hit her harder than anything else since arriving in this world.
Why did it hurt? Why did it feel so familiar?
She swallowed, but the bitter heaviness in her throat didn't ease. Her face grew warm. Too warm. Her vision blurred. Before she could stop it, tears welled in her eyes, spilling over.
Her body reacted before her mind did. Embarrassed, overwhelmed, she slapped her tiny hands over her face, her small fingers clenching over her mouth in a desperate attempt to silence the sob building in her chest.
But the sound came anyway-soft, shaky, and heartbreakingly helpless.
A cry that wasn't for hunger or discomfort.
A cry for something lost.
Something she thought she'd never miss.
The three froze instantly-ears tilted forward, eyes wide. Maahi had never cried before. Not once. Her silence had always been so constant it became a truth, a rule of the household. But this? This tiny, trembling sound-this soft, broken sob-shattered that truth completely.
The tall woman snapped out of her shock first. "Maahi..." she breathed, rushing forward. She scooped the little girl into her arms with practiced tenderness, one large hand supporting her head, the other patting her back in slow, soothing strokes. "Maahi, Ma Ma'ite... are you upset because your brothers were fighting?" her voice dipped into a gentle coo, melodic and warm.
Maahi tried to hide her face again, tiny fingers clutching her mother's shoulder as if she could fold herself into nothing. But the sobs kept escaping-short, hiccupy, muffled attempts at silence. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to be seen crying. Not here. Not now. Not like this.
Her brothers' ears perked immediately, then drooped low with guilt. Their tails curled close to their legs, and their earlier bravado vanished in an instant.
Etu was the first to move. He shuffled forward, clinging to their mother's left leg as if asking for forgiveness. "Sorry, Maahi," he murmured, voice small and fragile. "We didn't mean to scare you..."
Khalo followed, rushing to hug their mother's right leg tightly. "We'll never fight again!" he declared, tail flicking anxiously. The words tumbled out loudly, bravely-but even he couldn't hide the tremble underneath.
Their mother sighed, the tension leaving her body as Maahi's cries softened into tiny whimpers. She pressed a long, soft kiss to the crown of Maahi's head, her braids brushing gently against the baby's cheeks.
"There now," she whispered, rocking her slowly. "You are safe, my sweet girl."
Maahi's breathing steadied. Her sobs faded. And in the warmth of her mother's arms-surrounded by two boys desperately trying to make up for something they didn't understand-she felt something she hadn't expected to feel in this strange, alien world.
