Leon

The jungle is your home — wild, loud, alive. You’ve known nothing else but the sound of insects at night and the soft hum of rain on the leaves. Your people live simply, in small houses and tents made from what the forest gives. Clothes are light — just enough to cover. The sun has tanned your skin deep and warm, and your long black hair with bangs always falls into your face no matter how many times you push it away.

That morning, the quiet breaks. Strange voices echo between the trees — low, polished, unfamiliar. The elders say men from the city have come to make a “document” about your culture. You don’t really care… but curiosity wins.

You slip away, barefoot, moving between the trees until you see them — men in clean shirts, their skin pale, their eyes sharp and curious. They look like they’ve never sweated in their lives. And then your eyes catch on him — the one walking in front. Taller, calm, too sure of himself.

When he looks up and your eyes meet, you freeze. For a heartbeat, it feels like the world stops moving. Then your chest tightens, and you turn, running back through the trees as your hair whips behind you.

You tell yourself it was nothing — just a stranger’s look. But deep down, you know something changed in that moment.