18. Noah - August
EIGHTEEN
Noah - August
FEELS LIKE - GRACIE AbrAMS
Gracie’s fingers moved slowly along the lines of the book, her lips forming each word with careful precision. Her brows knitted together, her focus unshakable, even when a particularly tough word gave her pause. We’d met several times over the last few weeks, and she was improving with each session.
“That was a tricky one,” I said, offering an encouraging smile as she finally made it through the sentence. “But you nailed it.”
Her face lit up, and a shy but proud smile lifted at the corners of her mouth. “Thanks, Noah.” She hesitated, the tip of her finger tapping the edge of the page. “You know, I think I learn more from you than I do from my teacher. Or even from Daddy.”
A genuine laugh escaped me. “Oh, really? Why’s that?”
She tilted her head, considering her answer like it was a math problem she wanted to solve. “You make it… easier and fun. I can understand it better when you explain it.”
My heart squeezed. “Well, you’re working so hard. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come already.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down at the book, a bashful grin playing on her lips.
Moments like these were why I became a teacher—the small victories, the moments when a child’s confidence grew word by word, step by step. That helped me study and learn and research everything I could to find new ways, tactics, and strategies to help my students. I wanted to be the teacher they needed. The one who they would remember when they were thirty years old, thinking fondly back to their childhood.
“Can we read another one?” she asked, her enthusiasm bubbling over. I nodded.
“Of course. Let’s pick a good one.”
As we continued, I noticed how much more at ease she seemed. It wasn’t just about getting through the pages anymore—she was actually enjoying herself. There was something about that change that made me proud of this little girl I’d only recently met.
Eventually, Gracie set the book down and met my gaze with a serious expression.
“Do you think I’ll ever be as good at reading as the other kids?” Her voice was small and uncertain, and the question tugged at my heart.
“Everyone learns in their own time. What matters is that you’re getting better every day.”
I leaned forward slightly. “Remember that drawing you made for me last week? It was amazing—better than what I could have done.”
A small smile formed on her face. “Yeah, I do love drawing.”
“And that’s your special talent,” I continued. “Some kids are great at reading, others are great at math, and you—you’re fantastic at art. Everyone has something that makes them unique. Just because reading might be a bit harder right now doesn’t mean you’re any less smart or talented than anyone else.”
She paused, her eyes thoughtful as she processed that. Finally, she nodded, a smile spreading across her face. “I guess I never thought of it like that. Thanks, Noah.” Then, without warning, she hugged me.
After a few more stories, I glanced at the clock, smiling when I realized we’d already gone over our scheduled time. “Well… we are all done for today. You did amazing,” I said, gathering all our materials from the evening.
She surprised me with another quick hug. “See you next week?”
“Of course,” I replied.
I turned to leave, but as I stepped toward the door, I noticed Dorian sitting at his small dining table, looking up from something in his hands.
“Got a minute?” he asked, his tone casual but with an edge.
“Sure.”
We hadn’t talked much over the past few weeks—just a few messages about Gracie, making sure the tutoring sessions were set. After he admitted he wanted to kiss me—and how much I wanted it too, despite knowing it was a bad idea—I was more than okay with the distance.
Gracie burst into the room. “Hi, Daddy! Can I watch a movie now that I’m all done with my reading?”
“Of course. Remote’s on the coffee table, G,” Dorian answered, not even looking up.
“Bye, Noah!”
She dashed out, already halfway into the other room before I could respond.
“What’s up?” I asked, taking a seat in the chair across from him.
His concern always brought out a certain intensity in his eyes. “How’s she doing?” he asked, nodding toward Gracie, who was sitting close by, now watching a movie but still out of earshot.
“She’s progressing every session,” I replied, as I watched her. “Honestly, she’s really smart. I think she just might learn a little differently than what most consider the conventional way.”
Dorian’s brow furrowed, his dark eyes locking with mine in a way. “What do you mean?”
His tone wasn’t defensive, just curious, like he was trying to piece it together. He always wanted the best for Gracie. It was one of the things I admired most about him—his quiet but unwavering commitment to the people he loved.
“Well,” I started, shifting slightly in my seat, our knees brushing lightly under the table, the small contact sending a jolt up my leg. “Some kids don’t respond as well to the traditional phonics-first method of learning to read—you know, where they sound out every letter and try to blend them. Gracie seems to rely more on patterns and whole words. She’s more visual. She remembers how words look as a whole, kind of like she’s memorizing pictures instead of sounding things out one letter at a time.”
I paused, trying to explain it in a way that wouldn’t feel too teacher-like.
“It’s like… some people learn best by listening, some by doing. Gracie? She seems to connect with things she can visualize. So instead of drilling her on the alphabet, I’ve been using more visual aids—pictures with words, context clues, and repeating those visuals until it clicks. It’s not about breaking down every word but seeing the word and understanding its meaning in one glance.”
Dorian nodded slowly. His gaze moved to Gracie before shifting back to me. “So, she just learns a little differently?”
“Exactly,” I said. “She’s just as capable as any other kid, but her brain works differently in a way that the classroom may not cater to. Once we figure out her rhythm, she’ll take off. We just need to teach her in a way that makes sense to her, not force her into a box that doesn’t fit.”
“Okay, got it.” He cleared his throat, but worry was still etched into his features.
“You’re a good dad. You’re doing all the right things by letting her learn at her own pace,” I said.
His eyes met mine, an unspoken understanding passing between us before he shifted back to his usual composed self. “Thanks. That… it means a lot.”
“Only speaking the truth,” I said, standing from the table. “I’m going to head out.”
He smiled, his stupid dimple popping out and making my heart do a little pitter-patter. “Have a good night. Thank you… for everything.”
“Of course,” I said, shutting the door behind me and taking in the quiet of the night.
Dorian and Gracie had this way of making everything feel effortless, like it all just fit together perfectly. It was in the little things—Gracie’s bright smile when she looked at her dad, the way he always made her his priority, no matter what else was happening. The unspoken understanding between them, the ease in which they moved through life together. It was love in its purest form—steady, unwavering, and completely natural.
That warmth lingered as I slid into the car, settling deep in my chest as I turned the key. The engine rumbled to life, but my mind stayed with them—the quiet bond they shared, the kind of love that didn’t need words. It stayed with me, even as I drove away.