Morning didn't feel like morning.

  Not after what happened.

  Not after the blood…not after Jihan's smile…not after everything finally collapsed.

  The sun rose anyway—slow, pale, and unwilling—as if even the sky didn't want to face what came next.

  We were taken away that same day.Separated from the orphanage, from the hall,from the silence that still echoed behind us.

  But Jihan…

  He didn't walk with us.

  He was taken somewhere else.

  The Children's Court.

  A place colder than any orphanage hallway.

  A place where adults spoke in heavy voicesand looked at us like we were broken glass.

  ***

  We sat on wooden benches.Our legs dangled above the floor.None of us spoke.None of us cried.

  We didn't have tears left.

  The courtroom smelled like old paper and disinfectant.It felt too clean…too bright…too peaceful for the things being discussed.

  A woman from the Human Rights Commission stood before the judge, files stacked in her arms. Her voice trembled—not in fear, but fury.

  "Your honor… the investigation confirms systematic abuse within Arvona Children's Heaven."

  Her words cut the air.

  I gripped the sleeves of my shirt.

  She continued, voice sharper now:

  "Children disappearing one by one. Medical records falsified. Adoptions forged. The headmaster and his men engaging in—"

  She stopped.

  Her jaw tightened.

  Even she couldn't say it easily.

  But she forced the words out anyway, for us:

  "…illegal organ trafficking involving minors."

  The courtroom stirred.

  Gasps.Whispers.Disbelief that tasted like poison.

  I lowered my head, a strange numbness spreading through my chest.

  So it was true.All of it.Everything we suspected.Everything we feared.

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  Jihan sat alone at a small table in the center of the room.

  His hands were cuffed—small wrists swallowed by metal.

  But he didn't look scared.He didn't look angry.He just stared forward…quiet…empty…

  Like he'd left something behind in that halland would never get it back.

  The judge read through documents, one after another.

  Statements.Post-mortem reports.Hospital logs.Financial transfers.Missing-child complaints ignored by the orphanage.

  With every new detail revealed,the judge's expression darkened further.

  By the time the last page dropped onto the desk—the truth was undeniable.

  The headmaster had been a monster.

  And Jihan…

  Jihan hadn't killed out of malice.

  It was survival.

  It was desperation.

  It was a child, cornered by a nightmare adults created.

  ***

  "Regarding the boy, Jihan," the judge finally said, adjusting his glasses, "this court recognizes the circumstances: prolonged abuse, severe trauma, and a direct threat to his life and others."

  We held our breath.

  Even Jihan looked up slightly.

  "He will not be tried as a criminal."

  My heart thumped once.

  Hard.

  Instead, the judge continued:

  "He will be placed under Juvenile Protective Supervision. This includes psychological evaluation, weekly reporting, and living under state-monitored care."

  A breath escaped our lips—not relief…but something close.

  "He is not to be punished," the judge said softly."He is to be healed."

  Jihan lowered his eyes again.I couldn't read his expression.

  But I knew this much:

  He didn't believe in healing anymore.

  ***

  We were moved immediately after the hearing.

  They put us in a temporary residence—a quiet building with white curtains, clean blankets, and sunlight that didn't feel threatening.The walls didn't echo with fear,the food didn't smell like medicine,and the adults here spoke to us in gentle voices…not lies.

  For the first time in our lives—we were safe.

  But safety felt strange.

  Almost… uncomfortable.

  Days passed slowly.Children started laughing again.Rihan and Sifan chased each other in the yard.Alok discovered a TV show he liked and laughed at every dumb joke.Shahin helped the caretakers hand out snacks.

  And me…I began drawing again.Little pictures.Small things.Flowers. Birds.Things I wished we had seen before.

  We looked like normal kids again.

  At least… most of us did.

  Because Jihan—

  He didn't heal with us.

  He sat by the window every day, knees pulled close, staring at the world outside like it belonged to someone else.He barely ate— maybe a few bites of rice.He barely slept— his eyes always tired, always heavy.Sometimes the caretakers spoke to him softly, hoping for a response.

  He never answered.

  His body was here…but everything else in him was still trapped in that blood-stained hall.

  A part of me kept watching him.

  Will he ever smile again?

  Will he ever speak to us like before?

  Or… did we lose him too?

  Even though we were finally safe—a new fear began to grow inside us.

  The fear that Jihan might never return.

  Not from prison.

  Not from punishment.

  But from the darkness he entered that day.

  The darkness that saved us…

  and swallowed him.

  ***

  Then, a few days later, Jihan called us into his room.

  The curtains were drawn.

  The light was dim.

  And his eyes… were calm.

  Too calm.

  He stood in front of us—hands in his pockets, posture steady, as if the storm inside him had gone silent.

  "Everyone," he said.

  His voice didn't tremble.

  It didn't break.

  "Let's start a gang."

  The word gang felt strange.

  Wrong.

  Heavy.

  But we understood.

  We knew what he meant.

  "We need to become strong," he continued."To protect ourselves. We already know what happens to people who don't have power in this world."

  He looked at each of us, slowly—like he was making sure we heard every syllable.

  "So let's build something. For us… and for kids like us."

  Then—for the first time since that terrifying morning—he smiled.

  Not the broken smile from the blood-stained hall.

  It was small.Warm.A spark we thought we'd never see again.

  "And we'll call it…"He paused.

  "Navraan."

  That single word felt like a hand reaching into the dark and pulling us forward.

  Yeah.

  That became our family name.Our bond.Our shield.

  "And one day," Jihan whispered, almost like a secret vow,"no child like us will ever disappear again."

  The words echoed in our chest, louder than any sentence a judge could declare.More binding than any promise an adult could make.

  And that was the day—

  the Navraan family was born.

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