The poor black girl pays for a ragged man’s bus fare, unaware who is he in real…

Technically, yes. I’m on the board of a company, he said. So, you’re one of those rich people.

She didn’t say it like a compliment. I was, he admitted, until yesterday. I forgot what being human meant.

Maya scoffed. Words are cheap, Ethan smiled. Then let me try something more expensive like breakfast? Maya hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to pull her back.

Then, slowly, she nodded. Just eggs, no funny stuff. The diner was quieter than the night before.

The waitress recognized them and gave a half nod of surprise. Ethan chose a corner booth this time. Maya sat with her legs curled under her, watching everything.

Between sips of orange juice, she asked. You always carry cash now? Ethan chuckled. You learn quick when you’ve been mugged.

Bet you didn’t see that coming, huh? Guys in suits usually don’t. No, he said honestly. I didn’t, I thought I was untouchable.

And then, gone, just like that. Duh, now you know what it’s like to be on this side, Maya muttered, more to herself than to him. A silence stretched between them.

Ethan felt the weight of it. This wasn’t just a meal, it was a test. What about your family? He asked gently.

Gone, she said quickly. One in prison, one ran off, the rest who knows. I take care of myself, that’s not how it should be.

Well, it is. Some people grow up in houses, I grew up behind dumpsters. You just learn where not to sleep, who not to trust, and which corner gives you shade in the morning.

Ethan let her speak. It was the first time she wasn’t deflecting with sarcasm. I wanna help you, he said softly.

Don’t, she snapped. That’s the thing people say right before they disappoint you. He leaned forward.

What if I disappoint you anyway? Would you rather I not try? Maya stared at him. Her lips parted, but no words came. She looked away.

You ever lose someone? She asked suddenly. Ethan nodded. My wife, cancer, a few years ago.

Then you know, it hurts when they leave. Hurts even more when you never meant anything to begin with. Her words pierced through him like ice.

He reached across the table, not to touch her, but to close the distance. You meant something to me, that’s why I came back. This time, Maya didn’t argue.

She ate in silence, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. Her eyes were glassy, but she blinked quickly, burying it. When they stepped outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets washed but still gray.

Maya zipped up her hoodie. I gotta go, she said. Will you let me see you again? She shrugged.

I’m not hard to find. You just have to look in the places no one wants to. Ethan nodded.

Then I’ll keep looking. She started to walk off, then stopped, turning back. Don’t bring fancy people next time, or cameras.

I ain’t a cause. You’re Maya, he said firmly, and I’m not going anywhere. That made her pause again.

Then she turned and walked toward the shadowed alleyways of Hollow Ridge, blending into the city like mist. Ethan watched her go, then pulled out his phone. It had been replaced that morning.

He dialed his assistant. Denise, he said, voice steady. I want you to arrange something, quietly.

I want a list of shelters, schools, food programs, real ones. The ones nobody funds. Denise sounded startled.

Sir, is this for PR? No, Ethan said. This is personal. He ended the call and stared out at the morning city.

Something had begun. He didn’t know where it would lead, but for the first time in years, he was following something other than profit. It was hope, small, fragile, but very real.

The sun had barely lifted over the rooftops when Ethan stepped into the boardroom of Blake and Holden Capital. The sleek, glass-walled conference room was a far cry from the damp concrete under the Fifth Street Bridge. Here, the world smelled like espresso and leather-bound portfolios…