The First Leap

The First Leap

The young seabird stood alone at the edge of the cliff, the vast ocean stretching endlessly beneath him. The wind brushed against his feathers, teasing him, inviting him, daring him to move. Below, the sea shimmered in shades of green and blue, alive with motion and sound. To his family, flying was as natural as breathing. To him, it was a terrifying mystery.

His brothers and sister had already mastered the art of flight. He had watched them leap fearlessly into the air, their wings spreading wide as they soared and curved effortlessly above the waves. Each time they returned to the cliff, laughing and calling out in excitement, his heart sank deeper into doubt. He wanted to fly. He longed to feel the freedom they described. But fear wrapped itself tightly around his thoughts.

“What if my wings fail me?” he wondered.

“What if I fall and never rise again?”

These questions echoed endlessly in his mind.

His parents were growing impatient. They circled above him, calling loudly, urging him to trust his wings. His mother’s voice carried concern, while his father’s tone was sharp with disappointment. They believed he was ready. He did not.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, warming the rock beneath his feet. Hours passed, and hunger gnawed at his stomach. The scraps of fish his family had brought earlier were gone now. His siblings were away again, dancing in the air, diving into the sea, returning with fresh food. Each time they flew past him, his hunger grew stronger, heavier than his fear.

Still, he did not move.

Night came, and with it a restless sleep. When morning arrived, the cliff felt lonelier than ever. His family stood at a distance, whispering among themselves. He sensed their frustration, but also something else—expectation. They were waiting for him to decide.

Then his mother approached.

She landed a short distance away, a silver fish held gently in her beak. The smell of it filled the air instantly. His body reacted before his mind could—his beak opened, his legs shifted forward. Food had never felt so important.

He cried out to her, begging softly. She looked at him, her eyes steady, then moved slightly farther away. The fish remained just out of reach.

He stepped closer.

Again, she moved away.

Now the edge of the cliff was directly beneath him. The ocean waited below, vast and unforgiving. His heart pounded violently. Every instinct screamed at him to stop. Yet hunger drowned out his hesitation.

One final step.

The rock disappeared beneath his feet.

For a terrifying moment, he was falling.

The wind roared in his ears. His stomach tightened. Panic surged through him like fire. This was it—the end he had imagined so many times. His wings flailed uselessly at his sides.

Then something changed.

The wind lifted him.

Not upward—but outward.

Instinct took over where fear had failed. His wings spread wide, catching the air. He flapped once, clumsily. Then again. The fall slowed. The ocean no longer rushed toward him—it drifted beneath him.

He was no longer falling.

He was flying.

A sharp cry escaped his beak—not of fear, but of astonishment. He flapped again, stronger this time. His body adjusted, learning the rhythm his mind had resisted for so long. The air supported him. His wings obeyed him.

Above him, his parents cried out joyfully. His siblings swooped around him, their calls filled with excitement and pride. They curved and banked beside him, guiding him gently, showing him how to trust the invisible paths of the wind.

Laughter bubbled up inside him—pure, wild, uncontrollable.

The sea stretched endlessly below, no longer a threat but a companion. He dipped closer to the surface, watching ripples form and vanish. The fear that once ruled him faded into something distant and small.

He had done it.

He had flown.

In that moment, he understood something profound. His wings had always been strong enough. It was his doubt that had held him captive. The cliff had never been his prison—his fear had.

As he soared higher, carried by confidence he never knew he possessed, he realized that courage often arrives disguised as desperation. Sometimes, we do not leap because we are ready. We leap because we must.

And in that leap, we discover who we truly are.

That day, the young seabird did more than learn to fly.

He learned to believe.

✍️W writer mehran