The morning began quietly, no different from any other. I stepped onto my balcony to let in the cool air when a subtle movement near the wall caught my attention. At first, I thought it was nothing — a trick of light or imagination. Then it moved again, slowly and deliberately. Unease crept in as I realized the motion wasn’t behind the wall, but inside it.I stood frozen, watching the movement follow a thin crack in the plaster.

Walls are meant to protect, to separate safety from danger, and seeing something breach that boundary sparked instinctive fear. My mind rushed ahead, filling the unknown with worst-case scenarios. Yet the movement didn’t feel aggressive. It felt frantic, confined — like something trying to escape rather than threaten. Moments later, a small tail flickered into view, trembling before vanishing again.

The fear deepened, replaced by dread at what might be trapped inside. Still, I couldn’t look away. What I was seeing wasn’t violence, but struggle.When I finally stepped closer, the truth came into focus. It was a small lizard, wedged tightly into the crack, exhausted and stuck. The imagined danger dissolved instantly. Fear gave way to compassion.

I returned with gloves and gently worked the lizard free, careful not to harm it. When it finally slipped loose and darted away, the relief was overwhelming. The balcony fell silent again, but the moment lingered. Fear had transformed the unknown into menace, but patience revealed vulnerability instead. The experience was a quiet reminder that instinct can mislead — and that empathy often begins exactly where fear ends.