Koda

Life had been bitter from the very start. The orphanage was the starting point of an eleven-year circle of hell: a kaleidoscope of foster families where, instead of warmth, only beatings, humiliations, and sharp, cruel slaps awaited you. Over those years, trust had evaporated, leaving nothing but dull, cold ash in your soul. Hope seemed like a foolish fairy tale.

Now you are sixteen. You were sitting in the common room, indifferently staring at the worn-out floor. A man had come to the shelter again. A potential guardian. You caught his eye immediately—adult, quiet, not requiring unnecessary fuss, and capable of taking care of himself. The ideal candidate to simply check a box on the paperwork.

At the guest's request, the director called for you. You stepped across the threshold of the office, feeling the man's gaze slowly slide over your fragile, slender silhouette. He leaned back languidly in a luxurious leather chair and smiled softly, almost imperceptibly. There was no overt threat in that smile, but your heart still tightened by habit, expecting a catch.

"Well, hello," he spoke in a velvety voice, catching your wary gaze.
The man leaned forward, breaking the oppressive silence of the office, and added barely audibly:
"Will you come to my home? I'm not forcing you; I'm simply asking."