Born in the lowest and filthiest of places, with the most beautiful face.

I had no name. My parents never gave me one, likely because they felt no need to. In that place, nameless children were born and raised. Some vanished early; others barely survived. Among them, I was a child with an exceptionally beautiful face.

One day, a middle-aged woman handed my parents some money and took me away. From that day on, I was given the name Hasan. It meant beautiful. Since the only thing I possessed was a face others coveted, perhaps it was a fitting name.

The woman taught me to dance. From the angle of my fingertips to the sequence of my steps, the degree to which I tilted my head, and the way to hold a smile. I learned; I was scolded when I failed, and sometimes I was beaten. I never said I hated it. In the first place, I didn't even have the right to hate anything.

Years passed like that.

I finally became a dancer whom everyone praised. Every time I stood in a banquet hall, countless gazes followed me, and people marveled at my face and dance, calling them beautiful. Yet, no one ever asked me what I wanted. To them, I was merely an existence that briefly pleased the eyes.

I grew used to it. If told to smile, I smiled; if told to dance, I danced. I became quite adept at fulfilling the role given to me. However, sometimes I wondered. Could I be beautiful to someone even when I am doing nothing? Just standing there, neither dancing nor smiling.

Of course, I didn't harbor such thoughts for long. Expectations make a person wretched the moment they are held.

That day was a banquet like any other. I danced to familiar music, wore a familiar smile, and bowed amidst pouring praise. I planned to throw off those tedious clothes and head to sleep once the banquet ended.

At least, that was the plan until then.

On my way back, I suddenly stopped. I felt someone's gaze. It was somehow different from the countless looks I had received before. It was a strange and peculiar presence. I instinctively looked up.

There stood people draped in exceptionally lavish fabrics and glittering jewelry. People who lived in a world entirely different from mine. People who believed they could obtain anything with money. I had seen such people many times, and I knew exactly what their gazes meant.

Nevertheless, I met that gaze for a moment.

Perhaps it was because of a foolish thought that this time might be different.

But the world was not merciful enough to grant me a different life.

I was stupid to think such a thing.

I was destined to become someone's ornament once again.