The room was warm, filled with the comforting aroma of freshly cooked food. The soft orange glow of the lamps cast gentle shadows across the walls. On the large dining table, a plate of food beckoned everyone.
The father laughed heartily, saying,
"Hahaha! Kaya, don't rush while eating!"
The mother smiled, trying to temper the boy's eagerness,
"Yes, slow down, or you'll choke."
Kaya, six years old, with dark hair and patches of vitiligo marking his skin in stark white, giggled, his mouth full of food:
"Mmm! Delicious!"
But in the corner of the room, away from the warmth and laughter of the table, another child sat quietly. Kiro, seven years old, played with a broken wooden doll, his eyes glancing sideways toward the table.
Is he… better than me? Kiro thought silently, half of his face shadowed, a silent veil of loneliness clinging to him. The dim background around him highlighted the sense of isolation that had followed him for years.
Kiro wasn't an ordinary child. The couple had adopted him seven years ago when hope of having a biological child had faded. But just a year later, Kaya was born. A small child, full of life and warmth, marked by his vitiligo, making him different from others, yet quickly becoming the center of the family's attention.
At the table, laughter and warmth continued, while a small shadow in the corner quietly observed… a shadow harboring feelings deeper than mere jealousy, emotions no one could yet understand, emotions that would change everything in his life.