Soft, barely there — like a song someone had forgotten how to sing. And yet, it stirred something inside Mira before she even opened her eyes.

She lay still, eyes closed, her arm curled protectively around her daughter’s tiny body. Little Solana was warm and heavy in the crook of her arm, her breath steady, mouth parted slightly. A lock of damp hair clung to her forehead. Mira pressed a gentle kiss there and smiled.

The hum came again. Faint, like it came from behind the walls or beneath the floorboards. It wasn’t a real sound — not one the world could hear. It was something else. Something inside.

It only ever came in the in-between — that fragile stretch of time when night hadn’t fully left, but morning hadn’t truly arrived. Mira had named it the Humming Hour when she was a child, though she never told anyone. It felt like a secret between her and the world.

Now, it felt like a secret she was supposed to remember.

“Mama,” Solana whispered, eyes still closed. Her small fingers clutched Mira’s shirt like a lifeline.

“I’m here,” Mira whispered back, brushing her daughter’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Always.”

It was still dark outside. The fan buzzed gently beside their mattress, stirring the humid air. The small room smelled of dried flowers, baby lotion, and the faintest trace of coffee that Mira longed for but hadn’t yet made.

Solana rubbed her nose and squirmed a little, the way she always did right before nursing. Mira helped her settle, adjusting her top wordlessly. There was something so ancient in the way her daughter breastfed — like the two of them were the last people on earth, sharing warmth and memory in the silence.

As Solana latched on, Mira closed her eyes again — and the humming returned.

Stronger now. Clearer.

This time, it wasn’t just a hum. It was… a melody.

One she almost knew. One she should have known.

Her chest tightened with something too big to name. A song without words. A lullaby she had never learned but had always known how to sing.

Solana suddenly pulled away and looked up.

Her wide eyes were strange — not scared, but aware. Awake in a way that felt older than 19 months.

“Did you hear that?” Mira asked softly, even though she knew her daughter couldn’t answer.

But Solana just smiled… and let out a high-pitched, teasing laugh.

Just like she always did when something mysterious was about to happen.