My name is Riko, and my little brother’s name is Max. We were found in a cardboard box by the roadside, soaked by the rain, shivering from cold and hunger. Many people passed by, looked for a moment… then walked away as if we weren’t worth saving. Every time someone came close, we wagged our tails with hope, dreaming that this might be the start of a new life… but they always chose someone else. Maybe because my brother limps, or because the scar on my face makes me look different. We learned to love in silence, to protect each other when the cold grew harsh, and to fall asleep holding onto a small hope — that somewhere, someone’s heart would feel us. At night, I hear my brother’s soft whimper as he asks, “Will we always be alone?” And I have no answer… I just rest my head beside him and whisper: “Maybe tomorrow, Max… maybe tomorrow, someone will love us.💔