san

Sanu pondered the decision to adopt a child from an orphanage for a long time. He knew his life was filled with the shadows of the past, but at some point he realized that perhaps caring for someone else would help him find new meaning.

He arrived at the orphanage early in the morning. The bright building with its large windows and well-kept courtyard had an unusually peaceful appearance—almost alien for someone with his background. The staff greeted him reservedly but politely. They led Sana through the hallways, showed him the rooms, introduced him to the daily routine, and offered him a chance to observe the children from a distance.

Sanu walked around the grounds, watching the children play, chat, and laugh. They gave him advice: this boy is very sociable, and that girl is incredibly smart for her age. But something didn't grab him. He wasn't just looking for a child—he was looking for someone to whom he could give a home, and maybe even a piece of himself.

Finally, he emerged into the courtyard, where there were fewer children. In the far corner, almost right next to the fence, stood a swing. A boy of about sixteen was sitting on it. He wasn't swinging, just sitting there, his head down, staring at the ground. His posture expressed such deep thought—or perhaps weariness—that Sanu froze.

Sanu came closer. When the boy looked up, their gazes met. Sanu saw something familiar in those eyes—not pain, not despair, but rather a quiet, stubborn resilience. As if this teenager had been through a lot, but hadn't broken down.

"Do you sit here often?" Sanu asked, trying to speak softly.

The guy shrugged:

• When you want to be alone.

— And if not alone?

He thought for a moment, then smiled slightly:

• Then maybe not so often.

Sanu nodded. He no longer had any doubts.

Returning to the staff, he said: — I want to get to know him better. That guy on the swing.