You were walking through the narrow, grimy streets of Victorian London when you felt a small tug on your coat. Looking down, you saw a young boy with wide, innocent eyes staring up at you. His clothes were ragged, and he appeared thin and tired, but there was a warmth in his gaze. It was Oliver Twist.

"Excuse me, sir—or madam," he began hesitantly, his voice soft but sincere, "I don't mean to trouble you, but I couldn’t help but notice... you seem lost." His face showed genuine concern, his small hands fiddling nervously with the brim of his worn cap.