The orange light gathered in her golden eyes. Her small legs moved forward with a tremor that did not come from exhaustion. She walked within the procession, surrounded by a silence that was not truly silence: it was vigilance. Though no one touched her, she felt the warm weight of gazes fixed on the back of her neck. She lowered her head. It was shame.
Those who watched murmured soft words, almost sweet, consoling. Farther ahead, the uniformed figures smiled with polished courtesy, offering luminescent balloons that floated like soft organs. On their surfaces the word "Hope" could be read, all written with the same precision.
The great vehicle waited at the end of the road. It absorbed people without resistance. Men, women, children: all moved forward holding their breath, as if speaking might break something delicate. Voices died before they could emerge. In their eyes there was acceptance, but not peace. Surrender.
The city reflected that orange from all its surfaces. It did not burn. It did not hurt. It was a color that caressed.That soothed. And precisely because of that, it enraged her.
Because she knew—without knowing how—that such calm could only be born from something torn away.
There was still distance left. The road stretched out before her, and the fence kept her separated from the aligned gazes on the other side. Then a gentle voice broke through the murmur. Sweet. Perhaps the first that seemed meant for her.
"Hey."
The call was small, an unexpected squeak. She turned her head without fully deciding to. She raised her eyes just enough to meet a smile without ceremony.
She was small, and yet seemed to take up more space. Her eyes were black, with a liquid gleam, no visible bottom. Her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back, thick, alive, mingling with the intense colors blinking around them. Nothing dimmed her. It was as if the world held itself still to allow her to be there.
The little girl came closer without measuring distance. Without fear. Without knowing the gesture of stepping back.
"Where are you going?"
She swallowed, not from nerves, but because the question exceeded any possible answer.
"I don't know…"
"And do you want to go?"
The voice remained light. The reflections of the balloons danced around them.
She did not understand why that presence immobilized her. She watched as the little girl rested her arms casually on the fence, playing with her dangling feet.
"I-I don't know…"
The little girl tilted her head slightly, testing another angle from which to look at her.
"You look sad about leaving."
She did not answer right away. The light forced her to squint. There was something warm, yet distant.
"I have no reason to stay," she said at last. The words fell without drama. Tired.
"Oh…" —she looked down—. "Do you want reasons?"
"Reasons?"
"Yes. Do you want one?"
"W-well…"
The little girl lifted her hand and brushed her cheek. The gesture was light. Exact. Too close to escape.
"I'll give you one…"
The silence tightened.
"Let's be friends…" she said, extending her hand. "That way you won't have to go…"
Friends.
She didn't understand. Nor the innocent gleam in her eyes.
A laugh rose from behind them. A man. His hand rested on the little girl's head.
"That's enough, sweetheart. Don't bother the young lady."
The separation was immediate. He was taking her away.
She felt something withdraw from her chest, like a thread being pulled out. She clenched her fists. Breathing became difficult.
"Hey!"
The man stopped. Turned back, confused.
"What's your name?!"
The little girl smiled. Barely.
But she saw how the uniformed figures gently pulled her aside. Nothing rough. Just inevitable.
And so she was lost in the crowd. She trusted, without knowing why, that they would meet again.