ATong’s cries echoed through the kitchen as the blender stayed silent. He bounced on his tiny feet, eyes fixed on the counter where the Dragon Shake ingredients waited. Bananas, milk, and fruit smelled sweet, but patience tasted bitter. He screamed again, a sharp, impatient sound that demanded speed.
Mom smiled softly while washing the cup. To ATong, that smile felt like delay. His hands shook, belly empty, heart racing. He slapped the table, pacing in frantic circles, crying louder each second. The shake was coming, but now felt impossible.
He remembered the last sip, cold and creamy, sliding comfort into his stomach. That memory made waiting worse. Tears spilled, mixing anger and hunger. He leaned toward Mom, then pulled back, yelling as if noise could hurry time.
Mom finally lifted him gently, whispering reassurance. ATong kept crying, pressing his face into her shoulder, watching every movement with desperate focus. The blender lid clicked. The sound made him gasp. Hope sparked.
The machine roared alive. ATong froze, stunned, then screamed with excitement and relief. His cries changed tone, softer, pleading instead of furious. He bounced again, hands reaching, mouth open, trusting the promise.
When the cup was filled, Mom cooled it carefully. Those seconds felt longer than the wait before. ATong whimpered, exhausted from emotion, cheeks wet, body trembling.
At last, the straw touched his lips. He drank fast, sighing between gulps. The world slowed. His shoulders relaxed. Anger melted into calm warmth.
Finished, ATong rested quietly, eyes half closed, clutching the cup. Hunger was gone, but something else stayed. He had learned that waiting hurts, but love always arrives. Even when impatience screams loudly, comfort follows, sweet and certain, every time.
Wrapped in Mom’s arms, he drifted sleepy, trusting tomorrow’s waits would end gently too, with patience learned through tears.
