chapter 12: threads of trust
the morning light filtered softly through the cracked wooden window of the girl's hut. ren lay awake on a simple straw mat, the warmth of the room a stark contrast to the chill that still lingered in his bones. the events of the night churned in his mind, fragments of pain and confusion tangled with that strange flicker of comfort he found in the girl's presence.
maya moved quietly around the small room, her steps light but purposeful. she glanced at ren and said softly, "wanna sleep at my home tonight? i'm alone. my dad and mom… gone. but you gotta sleep on the floor."
ren's pride flared immediately, the thought of accepting charity stinging like a fresh wound. "why would i want to stay in a place like this? i'm not some weak stray to beg for shelter."
maya smiled gently, her eyes calm and steady. "it's not charity. it's safety. and sometimes, even the strongest need a place to rest."
ren looked away, heart pounding with a mix of stubbornness and exhaustion. the truth was, his body ached in ways he couldn't ignore, and his mind, fractured as it was, craved something steady—something real.
"fine," he muttered, voice low. "but don't expect me to be grateful."
maya laughed softly, the sound like a breeze through dry leaves. "i don't expect anything. just rest."
as the day passed, ren watched her tend to small chores with quiet grace. the hut, though simple, felt alive with a warmth that was foreign but not unwelcome.
when night came, ren lay on the cold wooden floor, staring at the ceiling. pride warred with vulnerability inside him. *i don't need anyone. i don't need this.* but somewhere beneath that defiance, a seed of something new took root—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, trust wasn't weakness.
outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the promise of challenges yet to come. but for now, in this small sanctuary, ren allowed himself to breathe—if only for a moment.