Her fingers were so small, but they made such busy sounds—tap, tap, tap—as they danced across the glowing screen. She didn't know exactly what she was doing, only that things moved when she touched them, and that made it fun. Bright colors swirled, buttons blinked, and every tap felt like a tiny surprise.
She was following her curiosity, like a trail of breadcrumbs through a world she didn't fully understand.
Then suddenly... the colors disappeared.
Everything turned white. Just a big, empty space. Vivi blinked at it, confused. Where did everything go? And then—boop!—a keyboard popped up from the bottom of the screen like it had been hiding in a secret spot.
She gasped a little. That was new.
Her face lit up, because she knew what this was. She wasn't a baby—not really. Mommy had shown her letters. Big ones, little ones. She used to stick them on the fridge, bright magnets shaped like "A" and "Z" and "O," and she remembered how proud she felt when she got them right.
"C for cat," Mommy would say. "M for Mommy."
Vivi had traced them, too, with crayons, slowly and carefully—round and round the curves, trying not to color outside the lines. She liked how letters could be pretty, like pictures that said something.
And now they were here, right in front of her again. But this time, they were waiting.
Her finger hovered, just for a second. Then she tapped one. Then another. The letters appeared on the white page, little black marks blinking back at her.
She didn't know what the words were supposed to be. But she picked the ones she remembered best—the ones that made her feel happy, or made Mommy clap her hands.
It didn't matter if it made sense. What mattered was that she was doing it. All by herself.
Now, seeing the keyboard made her feel smart. Like a grown-up.
She didn't know what she was supposed to do on this screen… but maybe she could type something?
So, she began to tap the keys, carefully picking out the words she remembered from Mommy's lessons. The ones that made her smile.
"Dog."
"Cat."
"Mouse."
"Rabbit."
"Turtle."
One by one, she typed them all out, her little face serious with concentration.
Then, suddenly, her eyes landed on a button at the bottom of the screen. It was labeled POST.
She didn't know exactly what it meant, but it looked important—and shiny—and tempting.
So she clicked it.
And just like that, all the words she had typed were sent out into the world. Posted. Online. Public.
On her daddy's social media account.
Vivi didn't know that part. But she did feel proud.
Very proud.
She had remembered everything Mommy had told her! The words were right. The letters were in the right place. She was doing something big and smart—just like grown-ups do.
Energized, Vivi decided to type more. Words started pouring from her fingers again, random and joyful.
"Hello"
"My name is Vivi. I'm 5 years old's"
"Vivi is a baby"
"Vivi is cute"
"Vivi is daddy's daughter"
"Apple orange banana grapes watermelon"
She paused for a moment, lips pursed thoughtfully.
"Ummm… this is interesting," she whispered to herself, eyes wide and curious.
Then she made another discovery.
Emojis.
Colorful, funny, expressive little pictures. They were fun. She liked the smiley faces, the animals, the hearts, and the food icons. So she began adding them to her messages, giggling as she clicked each one. And then, of course, she posted those too.
Out in the world, on Daddy's account, people were starting to notice.
Stanley's followers stared in confusion as their timelines filled with what looked like childish nonsense.
(I guess Stanley's account is hacked.)
(No… wait. Some of these look like a baby posted them.)
(Why would a baby post from Stanley's account?)
(Why would a hacker post stuff like this? It makes no sense.)
(You've got a point.)
(Actually… she clearly said she's a baby. And called herself 'daddy's daughter'… so… Stanley's daughter?)
(OMG! Is Stanley married?!)
(Looks like it. And he has a daughter already?)
(I don't know if I believe it, but honestly… whatever's happening, it's kind of adorable.)
The comments started pouring in.
Dozens. Then more. People couldn't stop talking about the strange posts on Stanley's account.
But Vivi? She didn't care. She didn't even notice.
She was too busy, happily tapping away. Posting every single word she could remember, and every emoji that made her smile. She was completely absorbed in her own world—a world of letters, shapes, colors, and childhood joy.
Then—
"VIVI!"
The sharp sound of her name, shouted across the room, made her jump.
Startled, Vivi jolted in her seat. The phone slipped from her little hands and landed on her lap.
Before she could react, her daddy, Stanley, rushed over and snatched the phone from her grasp. His expression was somewhere between shock and fury.
He stared down at the screen, scrolling furiously.
His jaw clenched. His eyebrows twitched. His face turned red with rising frustration.
There it was. All of it. Post after post. Nonsense, emojis, declarations of cuteness, fruit names—hundreds of them. Made in rapid succession, all under his name.
This little brat had hijacked his entire social media presence.
Stanley felt like his head might explode. His veins pulsed at his temple. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Still scrolling, a new comment popped up at the top of the screen—this one from someone he knew very well. Neville.
(Hey! You have a daughter now? Why didn't you ask me to be her godfather? I thought we were friends?!)
Stanley's headache intensified.
And right next to him, the small culprit—his daughter—sat quietly. Still humming a weird little children's tune under her breath. As if absolutely nothing had happened.
Stanley's head was throbbing with anger. A sharp, pulsing irritation that made his jaw clench and his eyes twitch. This little brat—his daughter—had the nerve to mess around with his phone, post all kinds of nonsense, and now, she sat there humming. Humming some strange, tuneless children's song like nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just turned his account into a digital preschool bulletin board.