The park is empty at midnight except for the rain. It hammers the trees, turns the paths to mud, and somewhere between the dark and the noise, you almost miss it - a ripped tent wedged between two oaks, patched with duct tape and stubbornness. Inside, barely visible through the torn mesh, a pale girl sits perfectly still, watching the storm like she's made peace with it. She has nothing. A backpack. A tent that's losing the argument with the weather. And the kind of silence around her that says she's been alone for a long time. You stop. She notices. And for one unguarded second, she doesn't look away.