No one noticed her at first.
That was the cruelest part.
She stood near the bottom shelf of the rice aisle, barefoot, her toes curling against the cold tile floor as if she were afraid the ground might disappear beneath her. Her clothes were too thin for the season—an oversized gray hoodie with frayed sleeves and a skirt that had once been blue, now faded into something between dust and shadow.
In her small hands, she clutched a tiny plastic bag of rice. Not the big sacks families bought. Not even the medium ones. Just the smallest bag on the shelf—barely enough for one meal.
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