Morning came quietly.
Soft streaks of sunlight poured in through the window, brushing the floor like paint on a canvas. The air was still, touched by the gentle warmth of a new day. Outside, birds called out to each other in sleepy whistles. A breeze stirred the curtains, making them dance just slightly.
Luna opened her eyes slowly.
At first, the world was a blur light, shadow, a ceiling she didn't recognize. Her tiny hands clutched at the blanket as if searching for something that wasn't there. Her teddy bear had slipped down to the floor during the night. The room smelled faintly of lavender and wood not the smells of home. Not the scent of Mama.
She didn't cry. Not this time. She just lay there, her eyes wide and unblinking, taking in the unfamiliar space.
Then came a soft sound the gentle clinking of spoons and dishes, the hush of boiling water, and the faint, pleasant hiss of something cooking in oil.
Luna sat up slowly. Her bare feet touched the cool wooden floor as she slid off the bed and padded down the hallway, the oversized sweater she'd slept in nearly reaching her knees.
In the kitchen, Grandma Lin stood at the stove, humming under her breath. Her hair, still tied in its loose morning bun, had a few wisps falling out around her face. She wore a faded pink apron with a tiny embroidered cat near the pocket.
She didn't turn around immediately just stirred the porridge, flipped something gently in a pan, and poured tea into a pale blue cup with a matching saucer. She moved slowly, like she didn't want to break the calmness of the morning.
Luna stood silently by the doorway, watching.
Then Grandma Lin turned.
Her eyes met Luna's, and she smiled not a wide smile, but a small, warm one, the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket.
No words. Just a gentle hand held out in quiet welcome.
Luna walked toward her, and Grandma Lin bent slightly, brushing a few strands of hair from the girl's forehead. She didn't speak, didn't ask questions. She just guided Luna to the small bathroom, where a shallow basin of warm water was already waiting.
Steam curled up into the air.
Without needing to say anything, Grandma Lin began washing her gently. She dipped a cloth into the water and ran it along Luna's arms and back, careful not to make the water too hot or too cold. She rinsed her face with soft, careful hands, and dried her with a thick, fluffy towel.
She helped Luna into a clean yellow sweater and soft gray leggings, then brushed out her tangled hair with slow, even strokes. Two tiny hair clips shaped like strawberries held her bangs out of her face.
Luna looked at herself in the mirror for a moment. She didn't smile, but her reflection didn't look quite as heavy as it had the night before.
Back in the kitchen, breakfast waited.
A bowl of creamy porridge sat on the table, steam curling from the surface. Next to it was a small plate of sweet red bean buns warm and freshly steamed and slices of apple cut into flower shapes. A tiny cup of warm water rested beside her plate.
It was simply there waiting for her.
Luna climbed into the chair, feet swinging gently beneath it, and picked up her spoon. She ate slowly, in small bites, the sweet softness of the bun reminding her, faintly, of something safe.
Across from her, Grandma Lin ate quietly. The silence between them was peaceful, not uncomfortable. It didn't press or demand. It let Luna simply exist.
After breakfast, Grandma Lin helped Luna into a pair of little shoes and slipped a knitted cardigan over her sweater. She tied the buttons with care, adjusting the collar, then stood and opened the front door.
The morning air greeted them with the scent of flowers and distant baking. The sun had risen higher now, casting golden light across the garden path. The breeze tugged lightly at the hem of Luna's cardigan.
They walked together across the narrow lane. The neighbor's house stood just opposite small and neat, with green shutters and flower pots crowding the windowsill. A little windchime rang gently above the door.
Grandma Lin reached out and knocked two soft, polite taps.
Inside, footsteps approached. Luna's hand tightened around Grandma Lin's fingers.
Then the door creaked open.
A young woman stood there in her late twenties, framed by the soft light spilling out from inside. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, and a streak of flour rested lightly on her cheek. She wore a cozy sweater and an apron dusted with white, and the scent of something freshly baked drifted into the air.
She blinked in surprise then smiled.
And Luna, standing small and quiet beside Grandma Lin, watched