The midday sun cast long beams across the orphanage courtyard, warming the old stone walls and the patches of worn grass where the children played. Laughter echoed in the air—soft, distant, like wind chimes on a gentle breeze.
Noel stood at the edge of the clearing, one foot planted over a small leather ball. Across from him, just a few paces away, stood Erick. The boy was watching intently, his brown hair ruffled by the wind, his little hands clenched at his sides.
Noel raised a brow.
"You ready?"
Erick gave a small nod.
With a smooth motion, Noel tapped the ball forward. It rolled straight toward Erick's feet.
Erick panicked for a second—his legs twitched, almost as if he would miss it—but then he stuck out a foot and stopped it with surprising precision. He looked up, just a flash, and smiled.
'That's new,' Noel thought. 'Did he just smile?'
The boy nudged it back.
