Liam sat on the low wooden stool inside the small house, carefully sorting the fruits his mother planned to sell at the market that afternoon. The morning light came in through the open window, warm and golden, catching on the smooth skins of the mangoes, the deep red of the ripe guavas, and the pale green of the starfruit. He worked with quiet, steady focus, setting aside any fruit that was bruised or overripe and placing the best ones into a clean woven basket. The simple rhythm of the task always calmed him. In a life that had no memories before the day he woke up beside the stream, these...