The evening sun spilled through the narrow gaps of the curtains, painting soft golden lines across the small room. In one corner sat a little boy — quiet, lonely, and lost in his own thoughts. His toys lay scattered around, untouched for days.
His father was always busy with work, and his mother, too, spent most of her time handling office tasks. Sometimes, she managed to sit beside him for a few minutes — asking about school, serving dinner, or helping him with homework. But his father? He was always on the phone, always rushing somewhere, always too tired to listen.
The boy never complained. He had learned silence early. Yet deep down, he longed for something simple — time. Time to play, time to talk, time to feel loved.