'Ah… it's morning.'
Nair stretched out his little leg in a gentle lengthening motion, then slowly opened his beak and lifted his head, following with an extension of his right wing to the side. He then settled back into his sitting posture, gathering strength for the new day.
The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but he could sense dawn approaching from the sky's soft gradient and the gradual fading of darkness.
The air still carried a slight chill, but unlike the biting cold of night, it felt refreshing rather than painful—awakening him instead of freezing him. There was no time for laziness or slack; every moment had to be invested in adaptation and survival.
Nair didn't know whether his early waking was driven by insecurity in this strange body or by the instinct of a newly hatched chick. What he did know was that it was time for serious work.
'What a good feeling…' he thought, fluffing his feathers for the first time without realizing it, as if his body were beginning to act on its own.
'A new day… with renewed determination. This time, I won't fall again.'
He rallied himself, and instead of attempting to walk outright, he slowly crawled out from under the mother hen's wing—the safest means of getting around in his unfamiliar form.
Compared to yesterday, Nair now had a bit more experience; his greatest mistake had been trying to control this body from his human perspective—as he was used to—so his expectations had clashed with his actual movements. This time, he decided to accept that he was a chick and to work with his new nature.
He sat on the straw in a natural chick posture: legs folded beneath his body, torso resting on them, wings tucked at his sides, and head held up in confidence—the ideal stance for a chick learning to stand.
After all he had learned from yesterday's attempts, Nair chose to break his goals into smaller tasks today. Instead of leaping straight into full movements, he would focus on controlling each part of his body separately. He would begin with simple positions to gradually adapt to his new form, increasing his control until his intent aligned with his actions.
'Let's start by raising the right wing…' Nair thought—but his left wing lifted instead.
'Okay… let's try the opposite.'
As soon as he tried, his right wing moved again. It wasn't a matter of left or right—he knew which wing was which—but his body simply refused to obey his will.
In his previous life, Nair recalled, he had once read that humans possess two kinds of memory: cognitive and muscle memory. For example, if someone lost their cognitive memory yet could drive a car, would they have to relearn driving from scratch? The answer is no. They might not remember the names of the controls or distinguish between the gas and brake pedals, but their body would still drive unconsciously, as though remembering for them. That is muscle memory.
The same applies to musicians: they may forget the names of musical notes, but their fingers still move fluidly across the strings, as if guided by their own mind.
But Nair's situation was entirely different: his new body had never been used before and had no stored muscle memory. Like a hatchling fresh from the shell, he knew nothing of movement.
And the real problem? He still possessed his human mind—his old thoughts, his former habits—all utterly incompatible with his new body. This very contradiction lay at the heart of his suffering.
Unlike a chick or a newborn infant, who have neither cognitive nor muscle memory and rely entirely on instinct—where instinct and body work in seamless harmony, learning through trial and error—Nair's human consciousness overwhelmed any flicker of instinct he might have had, let alone the muscle memory his new body had not yet built. Thus he tried to control himself as though he were still human.
To simplify: imagine someone trying to drive a train with an airplane's instruction manual. Even the most skilled pilot couldn't move the train a single yard.
'I wish I had begun with no memory…'
Nair felt a sincere longing to lose his memories—just temporarily—so he could experience life as an ordinary chick, learning with his new body as he should, not as he imagined he should. If that were possible, instinct alone would guide his first steps until his movements stablized and his body grew accustomed; only then could his old memories return without confusion.
His efforts continued until midday, doing nothing but moving each limb one after another, training each part in isolation.
'Time for the test…'
he thought, drawing a deep breath in preparation for his first real trial after training since dawn.
'Head to the right…'
His head turned in the desired direction, if with a slight hesitation at first.
'Now look to the left.'
This time it swivelled easily.
'Up.'
'Down.'
Nair passed the first test, moving his head in all directions as he intended. Encouraged by his small victory, he tried again—and succeeded once more.
That modest success infused him with a clear sense of confidence, as though a tiny part of him was finally coming into alignment.
'Now the arms… I mean, the wings.'
He corrected himself reluctantly, slowly accepting that what he once thought of as arms were now simply feathered wings.
He focused all his awareness on his left wing.
'Left wing… up.'
And slowly, the wing responded. It lifted slightly to his side, then held its position. It wasn't perfectly smooth, but it happened.
Pride bloomed in his thoughts, but he pressed on.
'Now… the right wing.'
With similar focus, the other wing began to move. After a small second attempt, it too lifted until both wings were raised at his sides. They weren't perfectly synchronized, but they were up.
'Now… bring them down.'
'Left first.'
The left wing descended more swiftly this time, returning gently to its natural position.
'And the right.'
The right followed in a calm descent.
Nair settled into his posture and felt his body rest still as he commanded. This time, his wings obeyed, and his body no longer contradicted his will. It was the first moment he felt control beginning to take shape.
Head test… passed.
Wing test… passed.
And most importantly, he finally felt that his body was listening to him.
'Now… the third test.'
Nair thought, drawing another inner breath, readying himself for what he deemed the most difficult challenge yet: his legs—or rather, his tiny claws.
He would have to lie on his side, then bend each leg in turn, attempting to flex and extend his claws, opening and closing them, testing their response every time.
He first tried the left side, then switched to the right. Some movements were hesitant, others his body didn't quite grasp—but he pressed on with a determination no ordinary chick would possess.
After a series of trials, adjustments, and repetitions, his legs finally moved as he intended.
'Yes… I did it!'
he thought, flooded with a small triumph as if a simple exercise had been a world championship.
'Now… the final test. The main test.'
Nair drew a steadying breath and carefully settled into the perfect chick posture he'd practiced since dawn.
'Okay, on three… one… two… three.'
At that instant, he pushed his body upward—and stood straight, perfectly vertical on his tiny legs.
He closed his eyes unconsciously, as if waiting for the dramatic moment—the usual tumble, the comic collapse, perhaps even another harsh kiss of straw.
But…
Seconds passed, and nothing happened.
No fall.
No dizzy spell.
Not a single straw clung to his beak.
Nair opened his eyes slowly to find himself standing firm.
"Cheep!"
he cried with joy, scarcely believing he had remained upright.
Buoyed by sudden confidence, he flapped his wings enthusiastically… but the flaps were not quite synchronized. His balance wavered, and what he half-expected in his heart came true: another hard kiss of straw.
'Side note… flapping is an advanced-level skill,'
he jotted mentally with cautious restraint.
'That's enough for today. Training without rest leads to ruin, and balancing both is the secret to success.'
Nair thought as he crawled back to the corner of the nest, ready for a well-earned rest. He felt content: he had met every goal he set that morning and passed all four tests—even if one ended in a slightly embarrassing fall. In his view, that fall wasn't a failure but the result of an advanced maneuver never in the original plan.
Some might scoff at his self-imposed goals—especially the last one of standing steadily—but that challenge, far from trivial, was second only to walking itself. It was an essential step in mastering the art of walking.
This was one of the first truths he fully grasped after his repeated falls on day one. Unlike humans—whose center of balance lies roughly at mid‑body, making an upright posture natural—a chick's body is like a horizontally balanced device. A chick's relatively large head tilts weight forward, and its balance point sits low, near the belly, so merely standing is a challenge in itself.
Thus, Nair's final test was no frivolous gesture but a crucial step toward understanding his new form. Standing steadily is the simplest form of balance control, the first real test of locating one's center of gravity and learning to distribute weight in an entirely new way.
By succeeding—even if followed by an enthusiastic flap that toppled him—he knew the road to walking began here, with confident standing. Every successful balancing attempt today would make tomorrow's steps less bewildered and more secure.
If you asked him now, he'd say that standing upright without rolling over like a feathery ball was as great an achievement as climbing a mountain peak!
Evening fell, and the day's warmth gradually slipped away, leaving the ground cool under the ancient palm's shadow. A light night breeze stirred the fronds, and Nair's small body shivered involuntarily.
This was only his second day since hatching. Two days… yet they had felt like an eternity of confusion, discovery, and countless tumbles. And yet here he was, surviving another day, stronger than before.
All was still around him—no other chicks jostling for space, no roof overhead, only him, the mother hen, the open nest beneath the sky, and the breeze drifting across the straw.
'That's enough for today,'
he told himself as he quietly crawled back under the mother's wing, feeling the warmth of her feathers from afar before slipping into the safety of her shelter.
He thought of her as he gave in to a rare rest—not just for his tiny, fatigued muscles but for his anxious spirit, which at last saw a glimmer of a path through the confusion. Tomorrow was no longer wholly unknown. His body was no longer an unsolvable mystery.
Yes, there was still so much to learn and discover. But for the first time since he'd awoken in this body, he felt capable of continuing. Nestled in that small pocket of safety, he closed his eyes—deserving rest not only for its comfort but because he had earned it.
He had survived yesterday's bewilderment and taken a step forward. And though no one would witness his victory, he knew its value.
As the warmth of the feathers gently lulled him toward sleep, a small, quiet thought drifted through his mind—enough to bring a soft internal smile:
'If standing is possible… then walking can't be far behind.'