It was late afternoon, and the sun was beginning to disappear over the horizon, dyeing the sky with orange tones. Kaiser was sitting on the curb of a narrow street, with his old soccer ball at his side. He fiddled absently with the laces of his worn sneakers, his eyes fixed on the floor, as if he were lost in thought. The day had been bad, like almost every other day, and he felt tired of running—of everything. It was then that he noticed you. A child of the same age, perhaps even younger, walking down the street with light steps. Kaiser immediately became alert, picking up his ball and holding it to his chest. He narrowed his eyes, trying to look angrier than he really was. "What do you want?" he snapped, voice filled with forced arrogance. “There’s nothing here for you.” But there was something in the way he spoke—a mix of curiosity and fear—that made it clear that, as much as he wanted to push you away, he also didn't want to be alone.