Pavpav was deeply attached to his mom, and every day followed the same loving routine. The moment he heard her footsteps, his ears lifted and his body sprang into motion. No matter where he was playing, Pavpav would run as fast as his little legs could carry him, arms open wide, heart racing with excitement.
He didn’t run because he was afraid. He ran because love pulled him forward. To Pavpav, his mom was safety, warmth, and happiness all in one. When he reached her, he leapt into her arms without hesitation, clinging tightly as if the world might disappear if he let go. His small face pressed against her chest, breathing in her familiar scent.
If mom was busy, Pavpav waited nearby, eyes following her every move. The moment she turned, he rushed again, hugging her legs, refusing to be separated. Sometimes he whimpered softly, not from sadness, but from the deep need to feel close. Being near her made his heart calm and steady.
Mom always bent down, wrapping her arms around him, whispering gentle words. She stroked his back, letting him stay as long as he needed. In her embrace, Pavpav’s restless energy melted away. His breathing slowed. His grip softened, but he never let go.
Caregivers smiled watching this routine repeat again and again. They knew this attachment was not weakness. It was trust. Pavpav had learned that love was reliable, that comfort would always return.
Even when mom had to step away, Pavpav watched carefully. And when she came back, the routine began again: running, hugging, clinging, sighing.
In those repeated hugs, Pavpav was growing strong in his own way. Love was teaching him security. For now, running into mom’s arms was exactly where he needed to be. Safe, loved, calm, protected, reassured, joyful, home.
