The Lovebird Who Knew What Love Was

Maya found the injured lovebird on her balcony one rainy morning, its emerald wing bent at an odd angle. She nursed it back to health, naming him Pippin.

Weeks passed. Pippin healed but wouldn’t leave. He’d perch on her shoulder while she worked, chirping softly into her ear. Maya talked to him about everything—her fears, her dreams, her loneliness in the big city.

One day, a man knocked on her door. “I’m looking for my bird,” he said, showing her a photo. It was Pippin.

Maya’s heart sank. “He’s here,” she whispered.

The man, Daniel, came in. Pippin flew between them frantically, confused. Daniel’s eyes met Maya’s. “He seems happy with you.”

“He misses you too,” she replied.

They talked for hours, discovering they lived in the same building, shared a love of old books and terrible puns. Pippin chirped contentedly, hopping from one shoulder to the other.

“Maybe,” Daniel said softly, “he could have two homes?”

Maya smiled. “Or maybe we could share one.”

A year later, at their wedding, Pippin sat in a tiny bow tie, the guest of honor who’d brought two lonely hearts together.