By Huina Zheng
It was a freezing night as I trudged home, my steps heavy with exhaustion after an eight-hour shift as a temp worker at the factory. The dim streetlights on either side of the road cast a yellow glow, stretching my shadow long across the ground. Passing through the park, my gaze fell upon a young boy curled up under the shadow of a slide. He wore only a thin long-sleeve shirt, utterly inadequate against the biting cold, and his small body trembled uncontrollably.
I walked toward him. “Are you okay?”
He lifted his tear-streaked face. His eyes brimmed with helplessness, and it stirred something within me, bringing back memories of my own past—fatherless, my mother gone when I was six, and raised by my grandmother until she passed away two years ago.
“Where’s your family?” I asked.
“I…I…my…” His face flushed as he tried to form words, but he couldn’t manage a full sentence.
I could tell—like me, he was a child without a home, adrift in the shadows of the park.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Ei…eight…”
“I’m fifteen, so that makes me your big brother,” I said, forcing a smile as I extended my hand. “Come with me. You can stay at my place tonight.”
After a little pause, he nodded and grasped my hand.
We walked home together, the cold wind swirling around us as he stayed close behind me. Once home, I dug out the only food I had—instant noodles. I prepared a portion for him, and we sat at my simple dining table, sharing a meal that was humble but warm.
After we ate, we squeezed onto my single bed. The bed was modest, but it was enough for the two of us to huddle together. On that cold night, we clasped hands, sharing warmth and comfort. Our breathing gradually steadied, and the loneliness in our hearts melted away in each other’s presence. For that one night, we were like brothers—temporary, but real, and it was a bond that felt genuine and soothing.
The next morning, just as I was half-asleep, a loud and urgent knock shattered the quiet. I stumbled toward the door, puzzled by the early disturbance.
“Who could it be at this hour?” I muttered as I opened the door.
Standing outside were two uniformed police officers, their expressions serious.
“We need to speak with you,” one of them said.
I let them in, my heart tightening with nervousness, unsure of what was going on.
“A boy went missing last night,” the other officer explained. “We checked the nearby surveillance footage and saw him walking with you.”
“He…he has a home?” I asked, startled.
“Yes, his family has been searching for him all night. They’re waiting for him at the station.”
I froze, surprised and disheartened by the news. “He’s sleeping in the room,” I said after a moment. “I thought he didn’t have a home, like me, so I planned to take care of him.”
The boy emerged from the room. I stood by the doorway, watching as his small frame was guided out by the officers. Just as they were about to leave, he turned around. His eyes met mine, and in that brief moment, I felt a surge of emotions—a flashback to the joy I had felt last night, the happiness of having a younger brother.
* * *
Huina Zheng, a Distinction M.A. in English Studies holder, works as a college essay coach. Her stories have been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and others. Her work has received nominations twice for the Pushcart Prize and three times for Best of the Net. She resides in Guangzhou, China with her husband and daughter.
