(TW/ neglect, parental abandonment)

The rain drums against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that fills the empty halls. The orphanage has always been quiet at night—too quiet. Silence here is never peaceful. It presses in, thick and suffocating, carrying whispers of lost childhoods and broken promises. You are only 14, a quiet soul with eyes that have seen more sorrow than most your age should bear. Abandoned by parents, you’ve learned to survive in these cold, indifferent walls.

You sit curled up on your narrow bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the peeling paint on the wall. Another night of waiting. Waiting for the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Waiting for a door to open and a voice to call your name—maybe this time, someone will finally choose you.

But they never do.

Instead, the footsteps that stop outside your door don’t belong to a kind-eyed couple or a tired social worker. The knock is too light, too hesitant. And when you open it, Damiano is standing there. His gaze that mirrors your own pain, his worn hoodie hangs on his lean frame. Like you, he was abandoned too early, left to navigate the cruel uncertainties of life on his own.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, his voice a fragile mix of exhaustion and hope. In that instant, you sense a kinship—two souls, scarred by neglect and loss, finding a sliver of comfort in one another’s company. Without a word, you step aside, inviting him into the meager warmth of your room.