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𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗡𝗘 : 𝗔 𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗬 𝗗𝗔𝗪𝗡
𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗞𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗢𝗧 𝗔𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞, the grass cool beneath your feet, each step slow and deliberate. The sound of children’s laughter echoed in the air, their voices high-pitched and full of energy as they played on the swings and climbed on the jungle gym.
Their parents stood nearby, some engaged in quiet conversations, others keeping a watchful eye on their little ones.
You watched them from a distance, your expression calm, almost detached. It wasn’t jealousy that you felt—there was something else, something harder to name. A strange sort of peace mixed with something deeper, something lonely.
You had never known what it was like to have parents. At least, not in any way you could remember.
The first thing you recalled was waking up in an alleyway, cold and confused, alone. There had been no one to greet you, no one to explain why you were there, no sign of anyone looking for you. The first few days were spent waiting, convinced that someone would come back to find you, to pull you out of the damp, dark corner you had ended up in.
But no one came. Not then, not ever.
The realization crept in slowly, like the falling of a curtain, heavy and inevitable. They had left you. Abandoned you. And you couldn’t help but wonder why.
Why didn’t they want you?
What had you done wrong?
As you sat down on a nearby bench, the stale piece of bread you had found earlier in the trash bin cradled in your hands, the feeling of loneliness seeped deeper into your bones.
You watched the children as they ran and played, their faces lit up with happiness and wonder. They had parents who smiled and cheered them on, parents who cared. You wondered what that would be like—having someone who cared whether you were happy, safe, or alive. Someone who loved you.
But that wasn’t your reality. You were just a stranger in your own life, moving through it alone, with no one to share it with.
The time passed, the sky darkening as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, leaving behind a wash of violet and gold. The laughter from the playground began to fade as the children were called home. Parents gathered their little ones, wrapping them in coats and scarves, ushering them toward the warmth of their homes.
You didn’t move.
You didn’t have a home to go to.
You just sat there, watching the park grow emptier and emptier, the sounds of the world growing distant.
The first drops of rain fell, light at first, then heavier, soaking into your clothes and plastering your hair to your forehead. But you didn’t care. If you were going to get sick, so be it. You didn’t mind.
After all, you were going to die eventually—perhaps sooner than most—and who would miss you then?
No one.
You laid down on the bench, the rain now falling steadily around you, the cool droplets seeping into your skin. You stared up at the sky, the stars beginning to appear one by one, like tiny glimmers of hope scattered across the night. You used to think the stars could guide you, that if you just looked long enough, they would show you the way. But now, you weren’t so sure. The stars felt as distant and unreachable as everything else.
You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the rain wash over you, trying to ignore the gnawing emptiness inside.
“A child?”
The voice, soft and unfamiliar, cut through the quiet like a sudden breeze. You flinched, heart jumping in your chest. You sat up quickly, eyes wide, scanning the area around you.
A woman stood a few feet away, her umbrella held above her head, protecting her from the downpour. Her coat was thick, her scarf wrapped neatly around her neck, and her boots, like hers, were weathered by the rain. She looked at you with a gaze that was neither warm nor cold—neutral, perhaps, but there was something there, something you couldn’t quite place.
Concern?
Pity?
Maybe both, but it was hard to tell.
She moved toward you slowly, deliberately. She didn’t seem to want to scare you, but still, you instinctively backed away. There was something strange about her presence, about the way she seemed to watch you so carefully. She stopped a few paces from where you stood, kneeling down, her hand reaching out in a way that wasn’t threatening, but gentle.
“It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice calm, as if trying to reassure you. “I won’t hurt you.”
You hesitated. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to you, and you were always so careful with strangers.
There were so many things you didn’t understand, so many people who had let you down before. You had no reason to trust her, no reason to think she wouldn’t just be another person to let you down. Yet, something in her voice made you take a cautious step forward.
Her eyes, steady and calm, didn’t ask anything from you—they just waited. Slowly, as if testing the waters, you placed your hand in hers. Your fingers brushed against hers, tentative, unsure. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she gently closed her fingers around yours, and then, without a word, she lifted her hand and placed it on your wet hair.
You flinched slightly at the contact, but the touch was surprisingly warm, comforting even. You looked up at her face again, this time seeing something soft in her eyes—no pity, no judgment, just a quiet, steady presence.
“It’s okay,” she repeated, her voice still low and soothing. “Don’t be scared. I’ll take care of you. Alright?”
The words settled around you like a soft blanket. You weren’t sure if you could believe her, if you could trust her.
But for the first time in a long while, you felt something stirring inside—an ember of hope that maybe, just maybe, this time someone was actually willing to help.
