YOUNG MADISON'S POV:

The bus arrived like a burst of sunlight against the dull, gray orphanage walls. Children poured out, laughing, talking, filling the air with an energy I wasn’t used to. They wore bright clothes, their sneakers neat, their faces glowing with a kind of ease I didn’t know. I sat in my usual corner, half-hidden in the shadows, watching as my peers welcomed them with wide grins and eager hands.

No one looked my way. They never did. I wasn’t the best-looking child—too small, too quiet, too forgettable. While the other kids got pulled into games and laughter, I simply existed, slipping between their moments like a ghost. And I was fine with that.

Or at least, I thought I was.

Then, I saw him.

He wasn’t like the others. While they basked in attention, he gave it. Every child mattered to him, every voice was heard. He had an easy laugh, one that made people lean in, wanting to hear more. His chestnut hair was neatly buzzed, his skin smooth, glowing beneath the afternoon sun. But what struck me most was his eyes—warm, curious, alive.

And then, somehow, his gaze found me.

I stiffened, gripping the hem of my worn dress as he made his way toward me. He didn’t tower over me, didn’t let his shadow swallow mine. Instead, he crouched down to my level, elbows resting on his knees, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Why are you sitting here alone?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Just watching."

"Well, that's no fun." He tilted his head toward the others. "Come on, we’re about to hit the water slide. You should join us."

I hesitated, but there was something about the way he said it—not as a request, but an invitation. Like I belonged.

So I went.

For the first time in forever, I played. I laughed. I let myself be a kid.

***

The day faded into evening, and we gathered in the dining hall, wiping down tables, stacking chairs. I reached for a stray glass plate, but it slipped from my fingers, shattering at my feet. A sharp sting shot up my palm. I gasped, clutching my hand as a thin line of red bloomed across my skin.

He was there in an instant. "Let me see," he said, voice laced with concern.

I flinched, but he gently pried my fingers open, inspecting the wound. His brows furrowed. "Stay here," he ordered before disappearing through the doorway.

I exhaled. He was gone. Just like they all go.

But then—he came back.

Not just with a first aid kit, but with three roses.

"Hold onto these," he said, pressing them into my free hand. "Focus on them, not the pain."

I did as he said, eyes tracing the delicate petals, the deep red color, the way they felt between my fingers. But soon, my gaze drifted back to him—his concentrated expression, the way his hands worked, careful and sure.

A quiet chuckle slipped from my lips.

His head lifted. "What’s funny?"

"Nothing," I whispered, shaking my head.

When he finished bandaging my hand, he took it on his own and led me outside. We walked under the dimming sky, the evening breeze cooling my flushed skin. The moment was short-lived.

A voice called out. "We’re leaving! Get on the bus!"

I felt it then—the inevitable goodbye.

He turned, about to walk away, when I grabbed him, pressing my face against his chest, my small arms barely wrapping around him. My voice wavered, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them.

"I’ll find you." I pulled back just enough to meet his startled gaze. "And when I do, I’ll marry you."

A deep laugh rumbled from him, warm and teasing. "And what if I don’t want to get married?"

I glanced at the roses, then back at him. "I’ll make you change your mind. And then, marry me."

He shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. Sprinting toward the bus, he called over his shoulder, "You’re too young to understand matters of the heart."

Maybe he was right. I was only ten. My espresso brown curls, thick and wavy, were always half-done, tied back in a frizzy ponytail. My skin, a rich, warm dark-brown, held the remnants of a childhood spent playing under the sun, though I never played as much as I wanted to. I was small for my age, but my spirit never was.

So I ran after him.

"That might be true," I shouted. "But when I’m old enough, will you help me understand?"

He took a window seat, waving.

The bus engine roared to life.

My heart clenched as I cupped my hands around my mouth and screamed, "I’ll marry you someday, stranger!"

His laughter carried through the wind as the bus disappeared down the road.

I stood there, clutching the roses, their scent curling into my lungs, settling deep into a place I didn't know existed.

I kept staring at the road, even after the bus had gone. I didn’t know why. Maybe I'd been waiting for it to turn back. Or maybe I just didn't want to move. It felt like if I stood still enough, I could hold onto that feeling a little longer.

He'd talked to me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just some kid people forgot about. He'd looked at me like he actually saw me—not just the outside part—but all of me. That almost never happened. Not at school. Not even at the orphanage.

It had been strange how quiet everything felt when he was around. Like all the noise in my head had taken a nap. It felt... safe.

I didn’t know who he really was. But he smiled like his world wasn’t broken. Like maybe he didn’t carry the kind of heavy I carried. I wondered what his life was like.

Probably better than mine. Probably full of people who hugged him just because. People who didn’t forget his birthday.

I wish I could live in that kind of world.

Maybe one day... maybe I’d find it. Or maybe I’d find him again. And maybe he’d remember me.

I hope so.

Though I was only a child, something told me that it wouldn't be the last time I would see him.

"The heart never forgot where it first learned to beat for someone."