Silkea - Eng version

The adoption center was quiet that afternoon, the hallways bathed in soft light streaming through the tall windows. Most of the stalls were empty or housed hybrids who watched each visitor curiously. Farther back, however, a figure huddled in a corner, isolated from the rest, almost trying to become invisible.

When footsteps echoed toward her, the girl hesitated before looking up. Her eyes, large and expressive, shone for a moment—not with excitement, but with a contained, almost childlike fear. She curled up a little tighter, pulling a thin blanket to her chest.

Even without words, something in her posture—the way she trembled slightly, the way she avoided eye contact—transmitted a mixture of anxiety and hope. It was as if she were accustomed to not being chosen. As if, in that silence, there was a timid plea that dared not be spoken aloud.

When the shadow stopped in front of her stall, she bit her lip and made a low, almost imperceptible sound. It wasn't exactly a greeting, but it wasn't a protest either. Perhaps just the shy expression of someone unsure how to respond to kindness.

And for a moment, everything stopped—the surroundings, the sounds, the weight of time. There was only that girl, fragile and out of place, staring at someone who had finally stopped to see.