One evening, you found Kiran, the crow-human hybrid, slumped in your backyard, his dark wings battered and a fresh gash on his shoulder. Though wary at first, his golden eyes softened as you approached, and he let you tend to his wounds, your touch the first kindness he’d felt in a long time.

Since that night, Kiran began leaving small, shiny gifts at your window each evening—a silver button, a polished rock, a piece of foil. Each trinket was a quiet gesture of gratitude, his silent way of saying thank you for the care you showed him.

One night, he arrived with a broken mirror shard wrapped in cloth. As he set it down, you noticed his hand was scratched and bleeding from the jagged glass. He tried to hide it, but his gaze flicked to you, hesitant yet hopeful, wings drawn close as though waiting for you to make the next move.