As I made my way back to my room, my steps slow and unhurried in the quiet halls, I felt a small figure bump lightly into me, almost like a drifting leaf brushing against something solid, and when I looked down, I saw Xiao.
The little girl who had been brought here not too long ago.
She was small, far smaller than me, fragile in a way that made it seem like even the wind could carry her away if it wished and yet there was something in her presence that lingered, something that quietly held on.
I remembered the first time I had seen her.
She had been sitting with a bowl in her hands, eating as if the world might take it away at any moment, stuffing each bite into her mouth with trembling fingers, tears streaming down her face as she chewed, as if every swallow hurt, not just her body but something deeper within her. She didn't look at anyone, didn't stop, didn't even breathe properly between bites, as though she had learned that food was never guaranteed, that it could disappear if she hesitated.
I had walked closer to her back then, drawn without understanding why, and sat beside her quietly. She hadn't reacted, hadn't even acknowledged my presence, her entire being focused on the food in front of her. I had watched her from the corner of my eyes, not wanting to disturb her, yet unable to look away.
Her hunger had felt familiar.
Not the hunger for food. How hungry is different...
Something else.
Something that had no name.
I had been hungry too, for as long as I could remember...maybe since the day I leaned how to eat...
and even after I learned how to eat, after I was given food regularly, that feeling never truly went away. Every bite only reminded me of how empty I had been before, how much I had lacked without even knowing it.
When she had finally slowed down, when the bowl had emptied and her hands had stopped trembling, she had noticed me sitting there, her eyes widening in sudden awareness, and she had moved away from me instinctively, as if I might take something from her.
I had thought I had done something wrong.
"I'm sorry… did I scare you?" I had asked, unsure of what else to say.
She hadn't answered, she moved a bit far from me... avoiding my gaze...
Her lips had moved, but no sound had come out, only broken attempts that never formed into words.
That was when Qian's voice had come from behind me, calm and steady as always, yet carrying a quiet understanding.
"She can't talk," he had said, stepping closer. "Or maybe she was never taught how to."
He had looked at her then, his gaze softer than usual, though it was still hard to notice unless one paid close attention.
"I just hope she's full," he added quietly. "I don't know when she last ate."
Xiao had retreated further into the corner, her small body pressing against the wall as if trying to disappear into it, her eyes fixed on us with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.
Qian had approached her slowly, carefully, extending his arm as if reaching out to something delicate, something that might break if he moved too quickly.
Slowly lifted her into his hands, a beautiful smile on his face, like it belongs to him...
Her small hands gripping his clothes tightly as if she had found something she didn't want to lose.
He brushed her hair softly, the strands thin and uneven, and she relaxed against him, her body slowly losing its tension.
I had stood there, stunned.
When I tried looking at her again, she looked away, when I tried holding her , she moved off my grip and hold on to Qian like I was trying to steal her...
Qian just laughed it off, saying she is just shy...
Jun entered soon after, and without much effort, he took her into his arms, patting her gently as he carried her to sleep, her resistance gone as if she trusted him without question.
I had looked completely lost, does she hate me or something?
We watched her as she fell asleep, her breathing finally steady, her expression peaceful in a way that didn't match the way we had first found her.
Carefully, we placed her down and covered her with a soft blanket.
For the first time, she looked like a child who belonged somewhere.
And slowly, over time, she did.
She began to adapt to the life within Qianhe Yuan, the place where children like her, like me, were given something they had never known before.
She started speaking too, though not in a way anyone could fully understand, her words forming into something that felt like her own language, broken yet full of life, as if she was building her voice piece by piece.
Now, as she bumped into me again, she stumbled slightly ,she moved away, far from me and before I could react....a group of children surrounded us, their voices overlapping in excitement as they pulled at my sleeves, asking me to join them in their games.
I had learned how to play from them.
At first, it all seemed meaningless, their laughter, their rules that changed whenever they wanted, their endless energy spent on things that led nowhere.
But now…
I didn't want to think about meaning.
I had learned that not everything needed one.
Some things were better without it.
Because in that emptiness, they became something else, something that couldn't be explained, only felt.
So I said yes.
As if I could ever refuse those eyes.
We played until the sun dipped lower and the light softened, until the children collapsed onto the ground, laughing and gasping for breath, their energy finally spent.
I still had more.
I could have gone on longer.
But I lay down beside them anyway, pretending to be just as tired, staring up at the sky as their laughter slowly faded into quiet murmurs.
Maybe this was what Qian meant by fun.
"It's late, let's go to sleep," I said, my voice carrying just enough authority for them to listen.
And they did.
Without question.
One by one, they got up and returned to their rooms, Xiao among them, now surrounded by others who welcomed her without hesitation.
She had grown closer to them.
To everyone.
Everyone… except me.
She still wouldn't let me hold her.
" did I do something wrong?..." I murmured under my breath.
As I walked toward my room, I saw Piao standing in the hallway, her expression distant as she spoke softly to herself.
"She left again… not home for so long… again…"
She noticed me then and straightened slightly.
"Lue, you're here to sleep, I-"
"Who left?" I asked, interrupting her gently.
She paused, her expression softening into something more worried.
"It's your grandma," she said quietly. "She always leaves like this, and I know she'll come back… but it's been almost six months this time. I don't know what she's doing out there anymore."
Her voice carried a quiet concern she didn't try to hide.
I stood there, processing her words slowly.
Six months.
That was why.
That was why I hadn't seen her.
The realization settled quietly within me, like something that had always been there, just waiting to be noticed.
And for some reason…
the halls felt a little emptier after that.