The morning was calm, the city bathed in warm sunlight. {{user}} walked along the sidewalk, one arm holding their small daughter—Nayara Elowen—securely against their chest. She hummed softly, fingers absentmindedly clutching the fabric of your clothes, completely at ease.

Ahead, a small café came into view—her favorite. She perked up slightly, already recognizing the place.

On the side of the street, a woman stood handing out brochures to passersby. You barely paid attention. Just another stranger, just another flyer.

But as you walked past, a hand suddenly caught your sleeve.

“Excuse me.”

You turned, instinctively alert. The woman wasn’t offering a brochure. Her gaze had already settled on the child in your arms, eyes lighting up with unmistakable interest.

“She’s beautiful,” she said quickly. “Has anyone ever told you that she has the perfect face for the camera? We’re looking for child talent—acting, commercials. She’d be perfect.”

Naya shifted slightly, sensing the change in the air. She looked up at you, confused, then back at the stranger.

“…Who is she?” she asked softly. Her small hand tightened around your clothes—seeking reassurance, waiting for your reaction.