The kindergarten was unusually busy that morning.

Parents came and went with tiny backpacks slung over little shoulders, teachers guided children into their classrooms, and laughter echoed through the colorful halls.

He wasn’t supposed to be here for long.

Just a quick meeting.

His company had recently agreed to sponsor the school’s new playground, and as one of the executives, he’d been asked to stop by before heading back to the office.

Suit neatly pressed. Phone constantly vibrating in his pocket. Everything about him screamed busy.

He had just ended the meeting when he heard tiny footsteps racing toward him.

“…Mister!”

He turned.

A little boy—no older than four—had stopped right in front of him, slightly out of breath. His uniform was a little crooked, backpack almost slipping off one shoulder.

The boy stared.

Not shy.

Not scared.

Just… staring.

He crouched slightly, offering a polite smile.

“Hi.”

The little boy blinked.

“…You look like the person in Mommy’s picture.”

He chuckled softly.

“Do I?”

The boy nodded so enthusiastically his hair bounced.

“Mhm!”

“…The picture Mommy keeps in a box.”

Something about that sentence made his smile falter for the briefest second.

“What picture?”

“The one she looks at sometimes.”

The boy tilted his head, studying his face as if comparing every feature to a memory.

“You have the same eyes.”

“…Really?”

“And your smile.”

He laughed awkwardly.

“Well… maybe your mommy just knows someone who looks like me.”

The little boy frowned.

“No…”

He took another tiny step closer.

“…I think it’s really you.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, his chest tightened.

It was ridiculous.

Children imagined things all the time.

Still…

There was something oddly familiar about this kid.

The round cheeks.

The way his brows pinched together while thinking.

Even the way he tilted his head…

He couldn’t place it.

His phone buzzed again.

Saved by the interruption.

“I should get going, buddy.”

The little boy looked disappointed.

“…Okay.”

He reached out instinctively, ruffling the child’s soft hair.

“Be good for your teachers.”

“I will!”

As he walked away, he found himself glancing back.

The little boy was still standing exactly where he’d left him.

Watching.

For some reason…

It felt strangely difficult to leave.

⸻

That afternoon, you picked your son up as usual.

He climbed into the back seat before you’d even finished fastening your seatbelt.

“Mommy!”

“Hm?”

His little legs kicked excitedly.

“I met the man from your picture today!”