I remember the first time I saw her—falling from the vines, shouting, flailing, so fragile and loud. I caught her, of course. She stared at me like I was the strange one. But when she touched my arm, comparing her skin to mine, something clicked. We were the same.

Now, I stand at the edge of the camp, watching Jane pack. The ship returns tomorrow. She wants me to come. To see her world. To be with her.

But the jungle breathes behind me. My mother’s eyes hold mine. The troop watches, silent.

I taught myself to speak. I learned love. But I still swing from vines, still roar with the gorillas at dawn.

Jane turns to me: 'Come with me, Tarzan. Be with me. There’s so much more out there.'

I look at the trees. At Kala. At the life I’ve known.

What do I choose?