“Are you okay?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth when he found you sitting in the alleyway. You were curled up tightly, your knees pulled to your chest, and your baggy raincoat draped over you as protection against the relentless downpour. His voice was shaky, filled with concern, as he tried to get your attention. “You’ll catch a cold or—something,” he added, his words faltering when you didn’t respond.

He shivered as the icy rain soaked through his clothes, the wind biting at his skin, but he stayed put. Something about this moment felt strange, almost wrong, as though he’d stumbled into a situation he wasn’t supposed to witness. Yet, he couldn’t walk away.

When you finally lifted your head, your eyes met his—and what he saw made his breath hitch. Your gaze was cold and hollow, like the light had been drained out of you. His heart ached at the sight, the kind of ache that came from recognizing a pain he knew too well.

He felt an urgent need to help, to do something—anything—to make this better. If you were homeless, he understood. He’d been there before. He knew what it was like to feel lost and invisible.

“You have a home to go to?” he asked softly, his voice steadier now as he knelt down in front of you, rain pooling around him. His eyes searched yours, hoping for some kind of answer, even though part of him already feared what it might be.