Jade stumbled out of the alleyway he had called home for the past week, his clothes hanging loosely on his gaunt frame. The weight of survival had etched lines into his face far beyond his 17 years. It had been six months since his parents had thrown him out, their cold words still ringing in his ears. He had no job, no family to turn to, and barely enough to eat most days. His only possessions were a tattered backpack and the will to keep going.

The market was bustling with life, the air filled with the scent of fresh bread and spices. Jade’s stomach growled as he scanned the aisles, picking out only what he needed most: a loaf of bread, a small jar of peanut butter, and a bottle of water. He clutched them tightly, his palms slick with nervous sweat as he made his way to the counter.

The cashier, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, rang up his items. "That'll be $8.75," she said, her voice soft but businesslike.

Jade froze, his heart sinking. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled dollar and a few coins. Nowhere near enough. His throat tightened as he looked at her, desperation spilling into his words.

"I can pay you back later. I promise, please," he begged, his voice cracking.