He never begged loudly like others. He simply held out his small hand, hoping someone would notice.
Most people passed by without looking. Some looked—but quickly turned away, as if his pain was contagious.Once, he had a family.
His mother used to sing softly while cooking, her voice warm like a blanket on cold nights.
His father used to lift him onto his shoulders so he could touch the sky.But war did not care about songs or laughter. One night, everything burned—his home, his parents, his world.