The morning light in the forest near Angkor Wat always arrives gently. It filters through tall trees, touches the old stones, and settles softly along the roots where the babies like to play.
That was where I saw them—Rina first, then Boris tumbling behind her.
Rina has a quiet confidence. She studies everything before she moves. A fallen branch becomes a bridge only after she taps it twice with her tiny fingers. Boris, on the other hand, believes the world is ready for him. He leaps before measuring the distance, trusting the ground will meet him halfway.
Together, they balance each other.
Rina paused near a moss-covered stone, glancing back as Boris scrambled up beside her. He slipped once, then again, but she didn’t run ahead. She waited. There was something deeply familiar in that pause—like siblings anywhere in America learning to ride bikes in a driveway, one steady and one fearless.
When Boris finally reached her side, he leaned into her shoulder as if nothing unusual had happened. She accepted it without protest.
They moved through the clearing as a pair—testing leaves, tugging gently at vines, discovering the shape of their world under the watchful eyes of their mothers. Occasionally they would stop, sit close, and simply observe. The forest hummed quietly around them.
At one point, Boris attempted a bold jump from root to stone. He misjudged the height. Before he could steady himself, Rina reached out—not dramatically, just instinctively. A small touch. Enough to help him regain balance.
There was no applause, no grand moment. Just two babies figuring things out side by side.
In that quiet exchange, something universal appeared: the early understanding that companionship makes the world feel less overwhelming.
They are still small. The stones are still large. The forest still stretches endlessly around them. But as long as they move together, the space between those ancient roots feels manageable.
And as I watched them disappear into the trees, one steady and one bold, I couldn’t help but feel that their story—like so many sibling stories—was only just beginning.