The sky had turned a deep violet as Zen stumbled back through the forest, the apple pressed tightly to his chest. His stomach ached, the cold clawed at his skin, but his heart still trembled from the stranger's voice the first kind voice he had heard since everything fell apart.
He didn't even remember how his legs carried him through the trees, only that they did.
When he finally reached the cave, he crawled through the narrow opening and collapsed near the fading warmth of the fire. His hands, scraped and shaking, unwrapped the apple.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then, carefully, slowly… he took a bite.
The sweetness exploded in his mouth soft, juicy, warm from his hands. His throat tightened. It had been days since he tasted anything more than dry leaves. He ate slowly, taking two… three bites… then stopped.
He stared at the half-eaten apple in his palm.
His stomach growled, begging him to finish it.
But he didn't.
He wrapped it carefully in the cloth and tucked it under his makeshift bedding of leaves and moss. Maybe… maybe for later. Maybe to remember the girl. Maybe because some part of him feared it was the last kindness he'd ever get.
And then, wrapped in cold silence and firelight, he closed his eyes and slept.
The next morning, birdsong rustled the forest canopy. Footsteps returned.
"There you are," came the girl's voice again soft and curious.
Zen tensed.
The same white-haired girl. Her silver eyes scanned the trees, a curious smile tugging at her lips. She held a small bundle wrapped in cloth, just like yesterday.
"I thought I imagined you…" she murmured, looking directly at the cave. "But you dropped leaves when you ran yesterday. Little broken ones, scattered in a path. I followed them."
Zen froze.
He hadn't meant to leave a trail.
"I know you're in there," she said softly, crouching near the entrance. "It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you."
Zen didn't answer.
"I brought more apples," she added, unwrapping the cloth and laying three shiny fruits on a flat stone outside the cave. "And some dried berries. I didn't know what you liked."
The boy remained silent, his wide eyes locked on her from the shadows.
She sat cross-legged in the clearing, hands folded politely in her lap.
"My name is Mira," she said cheerfully. "I'm ten years old. I live with the forest gatherers, near the southern edge. My job is to pick fruits and keep the birds away." She smiled at her own silly words.
Zen watched, unmoving.
"What's your name?" she asked.
He hesitated. Then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, he replied:
"…Zen."
Mira's smile widened.
"That's a good name," she said gently. "Do you live here? In the cave?"
Zen looked away.
She paused, watching him carefully. "Where's your family?"
Silence.
Zen's fingers curled tighter around the blanket near him.
She didn't press further. Something about his silence felt like a heavy wall. Something fragile.
Mira stood, brushing leaves from her knees. "It's okay if you don't want to talk yet. But… will you come with me?"
Zen's eyes widened. He shook his head once. Hard.
Mira nodded understandingly. "That's okay. You don't have to."
Zen turned and fled deeper into the cave, crawling through the narrow path until the light from the entrance faded behind him. There, he pressed his back against the cool stone and waited breathing fast, heart pounding.
Outside, Mira peered at the small opening.
"I can't fit in there," she said softly, kneeling. "But I'll leave these here for you. Eat them when you're hungry, okay?"
She placed the apples gently near the rock wall and stood.
"I'll come again tomorrow, Zen."
Then she left.
And she did.
Every day.
Mira returned with berries, apples, sometimes nuts, even a blanket one day when she noticed how cold it had become. She never tried to enter the cave again, never pushed him to speak.
She would sit just outside the entrance and talk about things she saw in the forest squirrels stealing from her basket, the time she stepped in mud and sank up to her knees, or how she once mistook a shadow for a bear and screamed so loud a deer ran into a tree.
Zen listened.
At first from the shadows. Then closer to the entrance. Then, one day… he laughed. Just once. A soft, surprised sound, like a hiccup of light in his chest.
Mira gasped. "You laughed!"
Zen blushed and hid his face.
"Don't stop! It was cute!" she giggled. "Come on what if I fall into a pond next? Would you laugh then?"
Zen shook his head, but the smile remained.
Day by day, the silence between them softened.