Untouched
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The first light of morning slipped through the thin curtains of the camp, falling gently onto the gloves resting on the table. One white, one blue — leaning toward each other, yet never truly touching. Once, those hands had wanted to reach someone. With tenderness, with hope, with fear… But there was a boundary between them — unseen, yet deeply felt. The gloves were not only for protection. Sometimes, they were walls keeping humans apart from one another. It was like loving someone but not daring to get close — the moment when the one who longs to touch, withdraws instead. As the silence in the room deepened, the shadows of the gloves slowly blended together. Maybe that was the only touch they ever shared — a quiet connection born when light met shadow. And in that fleeting moment, it became a story as long as every distance between two souls.