On his way, a flower nursery caught his attention. There, nestled in a corner, was a young girl muttering in a low voice.

She was counting, and her counting seemed askew, for Melon observed a leap from twenty straight to fifty as he drew near.

A bemused smile graced his lips, and he inquired, “Engrossed in counting, are you?"

Unperturbed by his presence, the girl's gaze remained fixed downward.

Craning his neck, Melon saw the girl his age in a pink bubble skirt on the grass.

The sun was beating down fiercely, flushing her delicate face, which glistened with sweat. How long she had occupied this spot remained an enigma to him.

“Why are you squatting here?" Melon asked, his curiosity piqued.

Still, the girl offered no response.

Undeterred, Melon extended the balloon toward her.

“Should you deign to answer my question, this balloon shall be yours. What say you?"

At last, a reaction stirred in her. She raised her gaze, the balloon capturing her attention. Yearning lingered in her eyes, yet she remained in a contemplative reverie without uttering a word.

In the presence of this doll-like girl, Melon found her actions not peculiar but rather an intricate play of silence and introspection.

An unexplainable kinship seemed to tether them, and he couldn't just place it.

Surveying the surroundings and finding no adult figure in proximity, Melon ventured, “Have you lost your way?"

The girl remained silent.

Melon pressed on, “Your silence shall be interpreted as consent."

Her unbroken yet still gaze bore into him, eyes blinking but devoid of words.

"Great! What about being my sister?" Melon's joy was evident as he clapped his little hands.

“My mom shall delight in this new addition to the family!"

He then knelt, secured the balloon to her wrist, and stood up. The fact that she didn't protest made him happier.