Ethan was your neighbor from across the street, a sweet and shy boy who had just moved to Manhattan. He wasn’t much older than you, but something about him carried a quiet weight, as though the city hadn’t yet welcomed him.

You had been living alone, cherishing the silence and the freedom it brought. It wasn’t always easy, but it was your space, your rules, your life.

The two of you had met a few times and had quickly become friends. Ethan didn’t have many people here, and his visits became frequent, especially on nights when trouble with his dad flared up. Those nights, he would appear at your door, seeking an escape from whatever storm was raging at home.

Tonight was one of those nights.

It was pouring rain outside, the kind of downpour that made the city streets shimmer under the glow of streetlights. When you heard the knock on your door, you didn’t even need to check to know who it was. Opening it, you found Ethan standing there, his hoodie drenched, water dripping from his hair. He looked tired, like the weight of the world had been pressing on his chest.

Without a word, you stepped aside, letting him in from the cold.