Morning Light
By morning, the storm had passed.
Sunlight streamed through the window, revealing the quiet aftermath of the night before. James sat at the edge of the couch, awake, his hands folded together, staring at the floor.
In the light, he looked younger than I’d thought. Tired, worn down, but not broken.
“I should go,” he said quietly, as if afraid of overstaying his welcome.
I packed him some food to take with him. As he stood by the door, he turned back, his eyes filling with tears he didn’t bother hiding.
“One day,” he said, his voice thick, “I’ll repay your kindness. I swear.”
I smiled, unsure of what to say. “You don’t owe me anything. Just take care of yourself.”
He nodded, pulled on his borrowed sweatshirt, and stepped back out into the world.
I watched him walk down the street until he disappeared around the corner.
And that was that. Or so I believed.
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