Chapter No 3
The Lonely Cradle
Lina's third year of life should have been filled with soft blankets, picture books, and arms that held her close.Instead, it was defined by the tiny wooden cradle tucked in the darkest corner of the storage room.
It wasn't truly a cradle — just a repurposed basket lined with old cloth. But to Lina, it was the entire world she knew, the only place where she fit.
And the only place she learned to cry silently.
The Quiet Child
By this age, most children laughed freely, babbling with curiosity.Lina rarely did. She had already learned that noise attracted the wrong kind of attention.
If she laughed too loudly, her father's voice would thunder down the hallway:"Quiet that girl!"
If she cried, her mother would sigh in irritation, as if the sound itself drained her.
So Lina learned to swallow every sound.
Her emotions became like birds locked in a cage — fluttering desperately but never escaping.
Only Marla saw the consequences: the way Lina flinched at footsteps, the way she froze when doors slammed, the way she hugged herself tightly at night as if trying to keep her little heart from breaking apart.
A Day of Silence
One afternoon, the house was strangely still.Her father had gone to town; her mother was resting with a headache.For once, no one was shouting, no one was arguing.
Lina sat quietly in her corner of the storage room, drawing shapes in the dusty floor with her finger. She didn't know what the shapes meant — stars maybe, or flowers. She had seen both only in the pages of old books Marla smuggled to her.
When she grew bored, she reached up and grabbed the edge of her cradle. She climbed inside, curling her small body into a ball. The basket creaked softly under her weight.
This was where she always returned when she felt lonely — a space too small for adults to notice, but big enough to hide her sadness.
She lay there watching the thin beam of sunlight slip through the cracks in the wooden wall. Dust glowed in the light, tiny sparkling flecks floating like magic.To Lina, they looked like stars falling in slow motion.
She reached her hand out to catch one.
Her fingers closed around nothing.
But she smiled anyway.
The Missed Birthday
Time moved differently for a child who had no celebrations.
Her third birthday came and went without a mention.
There was no candle.No cake.No "happy birthday."
The only thing different about the day was that the family had guests — and because appearances mattered, Lina was kept out of sight. Her father ordered Marla:
"Put her away somewhere. I don't want people asking about her."
So Lina sat in her cradle, hearing laughter echo from the dining room. The sound felt like warmth she was forbidden to touch. She listened to clinking plates, cheerful voices, her brother's excited chatter.
Her stomach growled softly.
She pressed her hand to it, not understanding why it hurt.
Marla slipped into the room later with a small plate of leftovers — bread crusts, a bit of rice, and half an apple slice.
Lina's face lit up, though she had no idea these were scraps.
"A present for you," Marla whispered softly. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."
Lina didn't know what "birthday" meant.But she knew what "present" felt like — kindness.
She reached up and wrapped her tiny arms around Marla's neck.It was the closest thing to a celebration she had ever had.
The Night of the Storm
One night, a violent storm swept through the village.The wind howled through cracks in the windows, and thunder boomed so loudly it shook the floorboards.
Lina curled tighter in her cradle, trembling.The crash of thunder felt like the angry voice of the sky itself.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room. Shadows leapt across the walls like ghosts. Lina whimpered and covered her ears with her hands, squeezing her eyes shut.
She wanted someone — anyone — to hold her.
But no one came.
The storm grew worse. A loud crash outside made her jolt so hard she hit her head against the wooden cradle. Tears welled up instantly, spilling down her cheeks.
Her sobs were small, barely audible — the sound of a child who had learned not to be heard.
Her cradle rocked as she shook, the old wicker creaking under the weight of her fear.
She whispered a tiny, broken plea:
"Mama…"
There was no answer.
The thunder roared.
Lina curled up again, hugging her knees.
And then—
A soft glow appeared near the wall.
Barely visible, faint as a dying candle… yet warm.
Two gentle shapes — hands made of pale golden light — reached slowly toward her.
Lina's tears stopped mid-fall.
She blinked, trembling as the warm glow washed over her.One of the glowing hands brushed her cheek, the touch feather-light, comforting.
Her tiny body relaxed instantly.
Her frightened sobs became soft breaths.
For just a moment, she felt… held.
The hands hovered a little longer, then slowly faded away as the storm outside died down.
After the Storm
The next morning, Lina woke curled in her cradle just as she'd fallen asleep. But something felt different — her chest felt warm, like a tiny flame had been lit inside her.
She didn't know what she had seen.She didn't know if it was real.But she remembered warmth.She remembered touch.She remembered not being alone.
And for a child who had nothing else…
…that memory became her treasure.
A secret no one knew.A comfort no one could take away.
She held that warmth in her small heart, not knowing it belonged to a person she had yet to meet —a person whose destiny was tied to hers across worlds and lifetimes.
The lonely cradle had witnessed tears, cold nights, and painful days…
But it had also seen the first spark of fate.