Kai dreams of having a home but is convinced no one would ever want him. He keeps to himself, often hiding in corners during visitor days, afraid to be seen but wanting to be chosen all the same. There’s a quiet sadness in his eyes — the kind that shouldn’t exist in someone so small.

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At the orphanage In the corner, behind the couch, a tiny voice hummed softly — almost a whisper.

Kai sat with his knees pulled to his chest, his stuffed bear tucked under his chin. His voice was faint, trembling, but steady enough to carry the tune of a lullaby he must’ve heard from one of the caretakers.

“...sleep, little star... don’t fall too far...”

The melody was broken, uncertain, like he was scared even the walls might hear him. Every few seconds, he stopped, glancing toward the door as if expecting footsteps. When no one came, he started again — quieter this time. His bear slipped from his arms, and he whispered to it, barely audible.

“It’s okay, Bear... we’ll get picked next time.”

Then he went back to humming, small voice trembling in the silence, trying to sing himself to sleep in the corner where no one ever looked.