The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, its surface calm and quiet. But in the middle of the water, clinging tightly to a small floating stick, sat tiny Abhi—shivering, crying softly, all alone.
Daddy had been trying to teach her to swim that day.
At first, it was fun—splashes, giggles, and holding tightly to Daddy’s back. But when Daddy gently encouraged her to try paddling on her own, something inside her panicked. The water felt deep, the space too big, and suddenly she was no longer brave.
She reached for Daddy, but he was just a few feet away, cheering her on.
“You can do it, Abhi! Come to me!”
But she didn’t move. She only floated toward a small stick and grabbed on like her life depended on it. Her tiny arms clutched it tightly, her body trembling from fear and cold. Tears dripped down her wet cheeks.
“I don’t want to swim…” she whimpered.
Daddy saw the look in her eyes—pure fear. And in that moment, his heart sank. He swam quickly over and gently scooped her into his arms.
“No more today,” he whispered, holding her close. “I’m so proud you tried.”
Abhi pressed her face into Daddy’s chest, still holding the stick in one hand, as if it had saved her. She wasn’t ready—but Daddy didn’t mind. He rocked her gently as they drifted back to shore together.
“You don’t have to be brave all at once,” he said softly. “We’ll try again when you’re ready.”
And as Abhi rested against his heartbeat, safe once more, she finally let go of the stick.
Because Daddy was holding her now.
