The Quiapo bakery door swung open gently, the aroma of freshly baked bread, chocolate, and cinnamon wafting through the air. Ramon de la Cruz emerged without looking up from his phone, checking emails, and constantly moving his chin as if the whole world had to keep up with his schedule.

But a soft voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Sir…could you buy my doll?”

Ramon looked up.

A six-year-old girl, wearing a simple dress slightly too big for her, and one worn slipper while the other was bare, clutched a cloth doll as if it were a part of her heart. Her hair was hastily combed, a lock of hair clinging to her forehead, and her large, sharp eyes seemed far too serious for her age.

“To help my mother,” the boy said, without crying, without any drama. He hadn’t eaten in three days.

It could be the image of a child.

Suddenly the street noise subsided. The bus horns, the hawkers’ cries, the closing doors… all became meaningless in the face of those words. Three days. In the mouth of a child. It sounded normal.

“Is there anything special about my doll?” Ramon asked, surprised by the gentleness in the boy’s voice.

The child hugged the doll tighter.

“My mother made this doll when I was little. But now… I have to sell it.”

Ramon looked around. People passed by, glancing quickly and avoiding his gaze, as if poverty were a contagious disease. No one stopped. No one asked.

“What’s your name?” he said, bending down slightly to be at eye level with the child.

“Ana Teresa.”

“How old are you, Ana Teresa?”

The child raised his hand and spread six fingers proudly.

“Six years old.”

Six years old. An age that should be filled with school, games, and simple snacks. The only hug in the world shouldn’t be sold.

“Where’s your mother?” Ramon asked.

“She’s at home. Just resting a little,” he replied, using grown-up words.

Ramon swallowed.

“How much do you want to sell this doll for?”

Ana Teresa thought seriously.

“Ten pesos. Just enough to buy rice.”

Ramon opened his wallet. He had enough money for a month’s food, but he pulled out five hundred pesos, as if he didn’t know what to do with the money.

“With that money, you can buy a lot of rice,” he said.

The child’s eyes widened.

“But… I don’t have any change.”

Ramon smiled faintly, a rare smile from him.

“—Now I don’t need it anymore.”

Ana Teresa carefully took the money, as if it would flutter in the wind. When she reached for the doll, she hesitated for a moment.

“—You promise to take good care of it?” she asked.

The word “promise” touched a deep part of Ramon’s heart, a part he rarely felt.

Then, as if to convey a secret, Ana Teresa slowly handed him the doll. She walked quickly, her hand clutching the money. After a few steps, she turned and waved. Ramon returned the wave without realizing he was still holding the doll.

In the car, the driver looked at him in the rearview mirror with a strange smile.

“—You bought a toy?”

Ramon took a long time to answer.

“—It seems… today I bought a whole story.”

And he thought it all ended there: a gesture, a morning, a girl lost in the crowd. Little did he know that the doll held within it… something that would shatter his world only to rearrange it later.

That night, in his quiet Makati apartment, he placed the doll on the dining table. It was clean, but cold: expensive furnishings, modern paintings, no laughter, no smell of home-cooked food. As Ramon lifted the doll to place it on the shelf, he heard a strange sound from inside: a drop of water seemed to have silently fallen into the seam.

Ramon smiled faintly, but frowned. He carefully picked up the doll. The sound came again: click, click. It wasn’t a stuffed doll. There was something hard inside.

He looked at the doll in his hands, as if it had suddenly spoken to him.

On the other side of the city, Ana Teresa ran to the small courtyard in Tondo, where an old custard apple tree stood, clothes hung on a line, and a broken bicycle leaned against the wall. She pushed open the revolving gate, which always creaked when opened, but today, the sound seemed softer.

“—Mother!” she shouted before stepping inside.

Her mother sat on the bed, leaning against the wall, the window open. She was still young, but her face was very thin, and her eyes were deep with weariness, not just sadness: