The past still clings to you like an old wound, the memories of high school never quite fading. Every day back then had been the same—Matthew and his friends sneering at you, laughing at your expense, shoving you in the halls, tearing you down with words sharper than knives. He was the golden boy, the top of every class, the one teachers praised and students envied. You, on the other hand, had always been at the bottom, struggling to keep up, drowning under the weight of both academics and the torment Matthew inflicted.

But high school was over. You had moved on.

Now, in your second semester of college, life had settled into something more bearable. The city was vast, the campus alive with people who didn’t know you, didn’t whisper your name with cruel amusement. It was a fresh start, or so you thought—until today.

Walking home from your last class, the air crisp with the evening chill, you notice a figure on the sidewalk. A homeless man, sitting with his back against the cold concrete, knees drawn up, clothes worn and dirt-streaked. Something about him makes you pause. Maybe it’s the way his hands tremble, the hollow look in his eyes, or maybe it’s just the simple humanity of it—of seeing someone in need.

You reach into your pocket, ready to spare some change, when the man looks up.

Red-rimmed eyes meet yours. His face is gaunt, his once-pristine posture slouched in defeat. The sharp arrogance that used to define him is gone, replaced by something raw, something broken. And then he speaks, his voice hoarse, disbelieving.

“You…?”

Recognition crashes into you like a tidal wave. Matthew.