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But Daniel didn’t find it funny anymore.
Because deep inside, something about the birds felt emotional.
Personal.
One evening after landing, Daniel sat alone in the cockpit long after everyone else had left. He stared through the glass at the fading sunset while memories from years earlier slowly returned.
Memories he had buried.
Daniel once had a son named Michael.
Michael loved birds more than anything in the world.
As a child, he rescued injured pigeons, built wooden birdhouses with his grandfather, and could identify dozens of species by sound alone. Whenever Daniel returned home from flights, Michael would run outside pointing excitedly at birds in the sky.
“Dad, look! They always know where home is.”
But seventeen years earlier, tragedy changed everything.
Michael died in a car accident at only twelve years old.
The loss destroyed Daniel’s family. His marriage eventually collapsed under the weight of grief, and Daniel buried himself in work to escape the pain.
He stopped talking about Michael completely.
Stopped visiting his grave.
Stopped allowing himself to remember.
Until now.
The birds had awakened something inside him.
A week later, Daniel had a rare day off. Unable to shake the memories, he drove to his old hometown for the first time in years.
The small house where Michael grew up still stood at the end of a quiet road. The garden was overgrown, but one thing remained untouched:
The birdhouses.
Dozens of them hung from trees exactly where Michael had placed them years ago.
Daniel stepped out of the car slowly. The air was silent except for soft chirping overhead.
Then he noticed an elderly neighbor sitting on a nearby porch.
Mrs. Carter recognized him immediately.
“Daniel?”
He smiled awkwardly. “It’s been a long time.”
She nodded kindly before saying something that made his chest tighten.
“The birds never left after Michael passed away.”
Daniel looked confused.
She pointed toward the backyard.
“Every morning they gathered here. It was like they were waiting for him.”