A new comer?

I didn't mean to stare at him.

But something about him was… wrong. Or maybe right—in a way this city rarely allows.

He looked at the park—lost and amazed. Like someone seeing colour for the first time… and afraid he might lose it if he blinked.

He was almost my height, probably about my age too. His hair was wild, orange-red, catching sunlight like it had stolen the last flare of a dying sunset.

But it was his eyes that held me still—

not glowing, but burning,

like two stars caught in mortal flesh.

And his clothes were almost painfully black—too dark for a city that breathed with endless light, like a silent shadow slipping through a world drenched in sunshine. White cuffs edged his sleeves, sharp and clean, as if the light itself tried to contain the darkness he carried within. The same white trim ran down the edges of his trousers, crisp and deliberate, like the markings of a uniform—something official, something confining, or maybe something he was desperate to escape. A worn strap bag slung across his shoulder completed the look, its simple presence hinting at journeys taken and secrets kept close. Every detail whispered a story of walls built and a shadow fighting to stay hidden.

For a heartbeat, I forgot the nightmare under my ribs.

All I could do was watch him stand in the light, as if it belonged to him.

Then he turned, catching me staring.

Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause.

"H… hey," I said, my voice foreign even to me, like it hadn't been used in weeks.

"Oh—hey," he replied.

His smile startled me—no walls, no suspicion. Just something honest, raw, unguarded.

I braced myself for a frown, or a sharp, "Why are you staring?"

But it never came. It seemed he hadn't even considered it.

I hesitated, then words slipped out like a quiet prayer:

"I heard you say this place is amazing," I murmured, glancing toward the park.

"I wonder… what makes you say that?"

Encouraged by the pause, I added,

"I'd love to hear your thoughts about this park.

Is it the people? The lake? The trees?

Or… maybe, for once, does everything here just feel… okay?"

I looked at him, catching that surprised expression—like he hadn't expected me to throw a question at him out of nowhere.

He turned back to the park, drinking it all in as if trying to memorise every detail.

"My thoughts" he murmured.

Then he said,

"I love how beautiful this place is—the warm, welcoming air, the animals, the people… everything feels perfect.

The lake holds the sunlight like it's afraid to lose it,

the breeze wears the perfume of flowers,

and the laughter of children drifts through it all like ribbon on the wind.

And most of all… everyone here looks truly happy.

I… kind of like it."

His voice rang true, yet beneath it trembled something delicate.

His gaze clung to the park as though he were pressed against a glass window,

staring at a world he was never meant to enter.

Every line of his face spoke the same quiet confession—

This treasure… this fleeting wonder…

Am I allowed to touch it?

A park is a place where no door is locked,

where no soul needs to fear crossing its threshold.

I stepped toward the gate.

"Let's get in," I said softly.

"Let's take a short tour—together."

His face brightened as he caught up to me,

and in that instant,

I realised I'd already found one of the things

I had set out searching for it when I left home.

But Lincoln Park was a rare pocket of calm in the city's endless noise. He might not have known it, but even peace like this wasn't immune to breaking.

—------------

As we stepped into the park—one of Elexers' rare green havens—the benches brimmed with quiet stories. People sat in easy comfort, their gazes drawn toward the lake. Children spun past on bicycles, wheels singing against the pavement, while others darted across a small, round cemented space where laughter rose and mingled with the city's distant hum. That space kissed the lake's edge, the water lapping softly against its border, while to the left, beyond a simple fence, grass stretched out beneath trees scattered like careful brushstrokes on a canvas.

The lawn was alive with colour—families and friends gathered on picnic blankets, their laughter spilling into the air. Some sat close to the lake's gentle shores, snapping pictures or simply letting the water's quiet shimmer hold their attention. The lake caught the sunlight and kept it, a mirror of liquid gold and glass.

From where we were standing, the air was alive with scents—fresh grass, the shy perfume of flowers clinging to the fence, and, drifting in from somewhere unseen, the warm sweetness of roasted nuts.

A black-and-white cat wandered past, tail swaying like a pendulum, each step unhurried. I might have ignored it entirely—if not for what caught me.

 I watched him crouch slowly, hands trembling as if the cat might dissolve beneath his touch.

There was a fragile wonder in him — like he was rediscovering something he never knew existed, and it made my chest tighten.

"What's the name of this animal?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitated, surprised at how much the simple question unsettled me.

"That's a cat," I said.

His smile blossomed, soft and genuine, lighting up those burning eyes.

"So this is a cat… not what I imagined. But it's cute.."

I didn't need to ask why he didn't know—

It felt better this way,

letting him discover the world on his own terms.

Then he stood, rising slowly, and walked across the brick-paved ground.

We passed an ice cream stand crowded with children,

their shouts weaving through the hiss and churn of the machines.

"Is there something special going on there?" he asked.

I watched him watch them—

as if the children before the ice cream stand were some rare, untamed species.

His eyes followed the way their faces lit with laughter,

not with mere curiosity,

but with a hunger—

the kind you feel when you're afraid a moment might vanish before you've truly seen it.

"They sell ice cream," I told him. "A lot of kids like it."

"Ice cream? What's that?" he asked.

He didn't know that either.

But this time, I wasn't surprised—

not after he hadn't known a cat.

"It's something you will definitely like," I said with a faint smile.

"Let's get some before it's gone."

I started walking toward the ice cream stand,

And he fell into step beside me, quiet and curious.

We bought cones, the cold sweetness spilling warmth through the day's heat.

He took one careful bite,

and his eyes widened as though he'd just tasted sunlight.

"This is… tasty," he murmured, wonder curling at the edges of his voice.

That was when I saw him—

The boy from the slums.

Small, thin, eyes fixed on the cone in Leo's hand like it was the rarest treasure in the world.

My fingers brushed my wallet,

But before I could move,

Leo knelt,

and without a word,

placed the cone into the boy's trembling hands.

The boy's grin cracked the city's grey chill wide open.

Leo's palm ruffled the child's tangled brown hair,

a gesture soft as a promise.

Then he rose, walked back to the stand,

and returned with another cone for himself.

Watching him then,

I knew—without a single doubt—

He was a good person.

Feeling lighter, we wandered toward the lake bordered by a low fence, where ducks drifted lazily across the water, their mirrored forms shattering into ripples with each unhurried glide.

"This strawberry ice cream… It's good. Almost like the vanilla I bought earlier," he said between slow bites.

"Do you know how they make these?"

"I'm not sure. I just know it's frozen after it's made, that's all," I replied.

He looked away for a moment, the spoon hovering in his hand.

"I'll find out someday. I'd like to make one on my own."

There was a quiet burn in his eyes—

not the flicker of a passing thought,

but the steady glow of someone already charting the steps ahead.

We finished our cones slowly, each bite melting into the last, until nothing remained but the faint sweetness clinging to our lips.

Leo licked his fingers absentmindedly, his eyes never really leaving the lake. Then, as if something unseen had tugged his attention, his gaze sharpened—quiet but searching.

He turned to me.

"Hey… can I ask you something?"

There was a hesitation in his voice, the kind that carried both caution and need.

"Back when we were walking through the park… when you saw me staring at the cat, or the kids, or even this ice cream— you never ask how strange it was?" 

The air seemed to shift between us.

I blinked, caught between curiosity and caution.

His words invited me closer,

but something in me chose to keep the moment gentle—

to let the sunlight linger instead of pulling clouds into the sky.

"Well, you looked like you were enjoying yourself," I said. "And you seemed so happy I didn't want to break that feeling. Who knows? Maybe you were locked away somewhere you couldn't even see the sun… and if I asked, it might have dragged you back to your dark past."

He chuckled softly.

"So you did notice."

There was a flicker in his eyes—part gratitude, part sorrow.

"Well… you might not be wrong," he said quietly, turning his gaze to the lake.

For a while, the wind spoke for us, combing through the trees.

Then he said, "We never introduced ourselves earlier. My name's Leo."

And that's how I met Leo—

Perhaps the rarest gift this world has ever offered me.

End of chapter.