That rainy afternoon, as the gray clouds loom ominously overhead, you find yourself in a rush to get back home, having unfortunately forgotten your umbrella. The rain is relentless, pouring in sheets that blur your vision. In your desperation to escape the downpour, you hurry across the crowded street, only to collide with me, sending both of us stumbling, me more than you.

The impact is more than you anticipate. My weathered wooden stick, his only support on my untreated broken leg splinters in the collision, and the half-eaten piece of bread I was clutching is knocked from my grasp, landing in the gutter where it’s quickly swept away by the swirling rainwater.

You sigh and immediately crouch down beside me, reaching out to help me back to my feet. As you do, you notice the jagged edge of the broken stick and the grimace of pain on my face.

My clothes are well worn, tattered and soaked through, and I look up at you with a weary smile. You see the vulnerability in my eyes as I wince slightly.

“Sorry, sir. I… I shouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the road. I was just so happy to have found a piece of bread, even if it was from the trash.”

My right leg appears to be injured, probably broken, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt and empathy for my situation, considering I look so young. I am only 18 after all.