Cheers to the Little One

A home filled with laughter.

Two families sharing tea, jokes, and unspoken hopes.

And a tiny heartbeat — not yet born, yet already bringing people closer.

Cheers to the Little One is a gentle reminder that sometimes, happiness doesn’t arrive loudly.

It enters quietly, sits at the table, and changes everything.

Cheers to the Little One

By Faramarz Parsa

Shahrouz parked his car in front of his apartment building and hurried inside.

The elevator showed the number seven blinking.

“Seventh floor… forget it,” he murmured, “I’ll take the stairs.”

By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was out of breath but smiling. He unlocked the door and stepped into a warm, lively home.

Mom Mahin and Aunt Shamsi were lounging on the couch, chatting happily, while Marzieh — Mina’s sister — came out of the kitchen carrying a tray of tea.

As soon as they saw him, everyone exclaimed,

“Congratulations! May the baby bring blessings!”

Shahrouz grinned and thanked them, his heart still racing.

“Where’s Mina?” he asked quickly.

Mahin turned to her daughter.

“Bring Shahrouz a strong cup of tea — and his favorite cream puff too!”

Then she leaned toward her sister, whispering with joy,

“Thank God, dear! We finally became grandparents!”

Shamsi kissed her on the forehead.

“Yes, sister… some people spend so much money and still never get this blessing.”

Before they could say more, Shahrouz asked nervously,

“Mom… are we sure? The test is final?”

Marzieh returned with the tea and pastry.

“Mom already told Dad to call your family too,” she said cheerfully. “We’re ordering dinner tonight — everyone’s coming to celebrate!”

Laughter and chatter filled the air. For the first time, both families felt like one.

Rahman, Mina’s father, leaned toward Zia, Shahrouz’s father.

“Shall we open it?”

Zia hesitated. “You already did?”

Rahman chuckled. “Don’t worry — the seal’s still on!”

The two men laughed like old friends.

“Then let’s drink,” Zia said, raising his glass, “to the little gentleman!”

Everyone burst into laughter. Mina stepped out of the bedroom with a gentle smile.

“Maybe it’s a little lady, Dad!”

Zia grinned. “No, it’s a boy!”

Rahman nodded playfully. “If Zia says it’s a boy, then it is!”

Mina smiled, her hand resting softly on her belly.

“For us, boy or girl doesn’t matter — as long as the baby’s healthy.

But… if we had to choose, we’d love a girl.”

Rahman and Zia said together,

“First, may the mother stay healthy — then whatever fate decides.”

The room filled again with laughter and light.

After a moment, Rahman leaned back in his chair.

“You know,” he said, “this reminds me of an old story — and it’s true.”

He smiled, sipping his tea.

“Years ago, in our old neighborhood, there was a man we called Haji. His wife couldn’t have children, so he married another woman. He used to say, ‘My wife must give me a son!’

My late father once told him, ‘Haji, first pray for a child — boy or girl, it doesn’t matter.’

But Haji said, ‘It does! A son is the root, a daughter is the fruit. Roots stay with the father — fruit gets picked!’

My father smiled and told him, ‘Even roots dry up one day, Haji.’”

Rahman laughed softly and looked at Zia.

“My father didn’t know then… that the problem was Haji himself.”

Everyone roared with laughter again.

Zia raised his glass toward Rahman.

“So, shall we pour another one?”

Rahman nodded.

“To the little one — whoever they are.”

And the night, filled with laughter, began a new story for two families — joined by one tiny heartbeat.