He didn’t act like someone trying to impress me or someone desperate. He simply did it with a quiet, sincere heart. His presence brought a kind of calmness. Customers liked him immediately because he was respectful and gentle. Some even asked if he was my son, and he would smile shily and shake his head. I noticed he didn’t talk much, but he listened carefully whenever I spoke.
That made our little conversations feel meaningful, even when they were short. But as the days went by, I also noticed something else. A kind of sadness he tried to hide behind his small smiles. Sometimes when I turned around suddenly, I caught him staring into space like he was thinking about something heavy.
Other times he would stop talking completely when certain topics came up. It became most obvious whenever I asked simple questions about his home. David, where do you stay? I asked one morning while arranging goods. He froze for a moment, his hand still holding the broom. He didn’t look at me. I stay around, he said, forcing a smile. Around where? I asked gently.
He shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. I just stay around, he repeated, this time more quietly. I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push. Still, something in his tone stayed with me. It wasn’t just shyness. There was fear mixed in. But even with the hidden pain he carried, I couldn’t deny that his presence brightened my days.
The shop felt warmer when he was around. He helped without complaining. He laughed at small things. And each time he finished sweeping, he would look at me with those gentle eyes and ask if there was anything else he could do. I didn’t know his full story yet, but I could feel that whatever he was hiding was something deep.
And somehow I also felt that our lives were slowly becoming connected in a way I didn’t fully understand yet. That evening after we closed the shop, David thanked me as usual and said he would see me the next morning. He walked away with his small steps holding the leftover food I had packed for him.
I watched him go and something in my heart wouldn’t let me rest. The way he always avoided questions about home, the way he looked whenever I mentioned family, it didn’t sit right. So, for the first time, I followed him. I stayed far behind so he wouldn’t notice. He walked through different small paths, moving quickly like someone used to avoiding attention. After a while, I wondered if maybe I was overthinking everything. Maybe he lived with a distant relative.
Maybe he just didn’t like talking about home. But as he kept walking farther, my worry grew. Finally, he stopped in front of an uncompleted building. The place looked abandoned. No windows, no doors, just blocks in a bare floor. He stepped inside like he had done it a hundred times. I held my breath, watching from the corner of the wall. He placed his small food pack on the ground and sat on a pile of old blocks.
That was when I noticed he had a thin piece of cloth spread on one side as if it was his bed. There were no lights, no protection, no adults anywhere, just an empty building and a little boy trying to survive. My chest tightened. I covered my mouth with my hand as tears filled my eyes. No child deserved to live like this.
No child should be alone at night in a place like that. I watched him quietly eat his food, looking tired and lonely in a way that cuts deep. I stepped back before he could see me. I didn’t want to embarrass him or make him feel watched. As soon as I reached the main road, the tears came freely.
I couldn’t stop crying. Every image of him sitting alone in that dark place replayed in my mind. It broke something inside me. By the time I reached home, my mother noticed immediately. What happened? Why are you crying?” she asked, holding my shoulder. I tried to speak, but the words got stuck. I wiped my tears and finally told her everything.
How I followed him, how I found him, how he lived alone with no parent or guardian, how he never said a word about his suffering. My mother gasped softly and sat down. “A little boy living there alone.” “Yes,” I said, crying again. “He has nobody. He’s been surviving by himself. He held my hand. We can’t leave him like that.
Her voice was calm, but I could see the concern in her eyes. I felt both relieved and overwhelmed. I never imagined the boy I had been helping every morning was carrying a burden this heavy. But now that I knew the truth, I also knew something else. I wasn’t going to leave him to suffer alone again. The next morning, I woke up with one clear thought in my mind. David needed Rayal help and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Knowing he lived alone in an empty building pushed me to act quickly. Before opening the shop, I went to the market. I walked straight to the section where children’s clothes were sold and picked out simple shirts, shorts, and a pair of jeans. Nothing expensive, just clean and new.
I also bought a pair of shoes. With the bag in my hand, I hurried to the shop and arranged everything before he came. I kept checking the road, waiting to see him turn the corner the way he always did. I imagined him smiling when he saw the new clothes. I imagined him finally looking comfortable and cared for. I felt hopeful. I didn’t know what that day would turn into.
A little later than usual, I finally saw him from a distance. He looked excited as he ran toward the shop, waving the same small hand he waved every morning. I smiled and stepped forward, ready to call his name. But before I could say anything, everything changed. A car appeared suddenly, speeding faster than it should.
I watched helplessly as David, still running, stepped forward without noticing it. The car didn’t slow down. It didn’t honk. It didn’t try to avoid him. It happened too fast. The car hit him and he fell to the ground with a force that made my heart jump into my throat. The sound of the impact echoed in my ears. The driver didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. He just drove off, leaving dust behind him.
I screamed his name and ran toward him. My legs felt weak, but I didn’t stop. People nearby turned and started running, too. Some covered their mouths in shock. Others shouted at the car that was already far away. When I reached David, he was lying on his side, not moving much. His breathing was shallow. His eyes were half open, confused and in pain.
I knelt beside him, shaking. “David, please stay with me,” I cried. “It’s okay,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure of anything. “Please don’t close your eyes. Strangers gathered around us.” A woman beside me wiped his face with her scarf. A man kept shouting for someone to bring a car or call for help.
Another man bent down and checked his pulse, telling me to keep talking to him. While some people were recording everything, I held him close, praying inside my heart without stopping. “God, please,” I whispered. “Please save him. Please don’t let this boy die. Please.” A tricycle rider stopped and jumped off quickly. “Let’s take him to the hospital,” he shouted. “There’s no time.
” During the whole ride, I kept praying. I didn’t care who heard me. God, please keep him alive. When we reached the hospital, nurses rushed out with a stretcher. They took him and carried him inside. I ran after them, breathless and shaking.
They didn’t allow me inside the emergency room, so I stood outside the door, listening to the sounds of nurses calling out instructions. I paced back and forth, holding my head and wiping my tears. Everything felt unreal. One moment I was excited to give him clothes. The next moment I was begging God to save his life. I couldn’t stop thinking about the uncompleted building he lived in. How lonely he had been, how much he had survived already. And now this.
My mother arrived after someone called her. When she saw me crying in the hallway, she hurried over and hugged me. What happened? Where is he? She asked. He He was hit by a car, I said, barely able to speak. We brought him here. He’s inside. I don’t know if he’s okay. My mother held my hand tightly. He will live, she said firmly. God will help him.
Just breathe. I didn’t feel strong, but her words kept me standing. Minutes felt like hours as we waited. Every time the door opened, I looked up quickly, hoping for news. I kept whispering David’s name, hoping he could somehow hear me wherever he was inside that room.
All I wanted was for him to open his eyes again and call my name the way he always did in the morning. I didn’t care about the clothes anymore. I didn’t care about the shoes. I just wanted him alive. Nothing else mattered in that moment. I stayed in the hallway waiting for any update about David. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
