[Mital's home]
The boy wore glasses and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. His shoulders were slightly hunched.
He looked up once—just long enough to meet Geone's stare—then lowered his gaze again, fingers curling into his sleeves.
Mrs. Mital couldn't understand what she was seeing.Her eyes moved from the boy… to her husband, stunned.
"Why is he with you?"She asked, an unknown and undeniable crack in her voice.
Mr. Mital closed the door gently behind him. Too gently.
"We found him," he said.
"Found him?" Her voice sharpened. "What does that mean?"
He rubbed the back of his neck — a habit he had when he didn't want to argue. "We were out with the team. In one of the local areas. His mother—" He hesitated. "She passed away. Severe illness. "
The boy didn't move.
Silence pressed into the walls.
Mrs. Mital's expression shifted — confusion first. Then disbelief.
"And?" she asked slowly. "That doesn't explain why he's standing in my house."
"He doesn't have anyone else," Mr. Mital said. "No father. No confirmed relatives yet. Authorities are checking."
"So you brought him here?" Her voice rose, then dropped again when she glanced at the boy. She lowered it to a hiss. "Without talking to me?"
"I couldn't leave him there."
"Why not?" she snapped. "That's what the system is for. There are stations. There are shelters."
"He's a child, just ten."
"And we are not a rescue center."
The words hit harder than she expected. She inhaled sharply, steadying herself.
They had lived in this quiet, well-respected neighborhood in Mexico City for nearly a decade.
But her husband had never brought a stranger home before—never made a decision this impulsive.
And now this.
Mr. Mital's jaw tightened. "It's temporary."
"You don't know that."
"Just a few days."
"You don't know that either."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "He was sitting beside her body when we got there."
That landed.
Mrs. Mital froze, thinking . poor kid ! But how can we take responsibility..
Her anger didn't disappear — but it fractured.
Behind them, the boy's fingers tightened inside his sleeves.
Still silent.
Still watching the floor.
She swallowed.
"…Did you at least file a report?"
"Yes."
"Talk to police?"
"Yes."
"And they said what?"
"That they'll investigate." His tone shifted slightly. Defensive now. "I signed as temporary guardian."
"You what?"
Her composure cracked.
"You signed what?"
"I had to."
"No, you chose to."
The tension thickened again.
He exhaled slowly. "He can't stay in a station. Not tonight."
Mrs. Mital pressed her fingers to her temple.
"And where exactly do you expect him to sleep?"
"In Geone's room. Just for now."
Her eyes snapped toward Geone.
Then back to her husband.
She opened her mouth—
But Geone interrupted, stepping closer, after studying him from head to toe, "Which class are you in?"
Curiosity sharpening in his gaze.
The boy—Charlion—kept his gaze fixed on the floor. The tip of his shoe nudged the tile.
"Friends?" Geone extended his hand.
Charlion looked up. Eyes wide.
For a moment, their eyes locked.
His hand lifted slightly—hovered in the air—Then stopped.
Dad rested a hand on Geone's shoulder.
"Yes. You'll be friends. But let him come inside first."
Without waiting, Geone grabbed the boy's hand tightly.
"Come! I'll show you my room."
Charlion looked startled, but followed.
They went upstairs.
[Upstairs]
Geone's room was big, perfectly arranged—the room of an only child who never lacked anything.
Toys everywhere.
Computer games.
Posters of superheroes.
A single cozy bed.
A proper study table with a chair.
"These aren't just toys—see?" Geone pointed eagerly.
"Spiderman, Batman, Flash, Doctor Strange, Doraemon! You can have them all. Just play with me."
Charlion's fingers brushed a toy car. He nodded—small, almost unsure.
"Can't you talk?" A big confusion on Geone's face.
Before Charlion could respond, Dad stepped into the doorway.
"Geone, he can talk. But let him rest today. Come downstairs now—we need to cut the cake. Come on."
Dad ruffled his hair gently and guided him back down the stairs.
12:30 AM.
The candle flickered in the dim light.
With a silent wish, Geone leaned forward and blew it out.
Smoke curled into the air.
The three of them cut the cake together.
Mr. Mital smiled faintly. "So… what did you wish for?"
Geone's eyes brightened instantly.
"I want Charlie to be my friend."
The words landed heavily.
Mrs. Mital's expression tightened.
"Geone… that hasn't been decided."
Mr. Mital glanced at her but remained silent.
Geone looked between them, his voice softening.
"Please, Mom. Please let him stay."
Mr. Mital took a small bite of cake, chewing slowly before speaking—measured, patient.
"He's just ten," he said quietly. "The police are searching for relatives. When they find someone, he'll go to them.
Geone shook his head quickly.
"Mom! But you said you'd bring me a friend."
Mrs. Mital pushed her chair back and stood.
"No."
She walked toward the kitchen.
"Please, Mom," Geone called after her. "Please."
Mr. Mital followed.
"Just for a few days," he said in a low voice. "He's Geone's age. He lost his mother… give him a little time."
"We can't take another child's responsibility ."
Her answer was firmer this time.
He softened.
"Just a few days, honey."
" No."
Twenty minutes passed in quiet argument. Then Mr. Mital stopped.
Silence...
The clink of a plate in the sink.
A long exhale.
"…Fine," she said at last. "But only for a short while."
The tension dissolved instantly.
Geone's grin spread wide across his face.
"Thank you, Mom! You're the best!"
He ran upstairs, calling,
"Charlieee...Charlie!"
———
But when he entered the room, he saw Charlie already asleep on the bed.
Glasses still on, hands curled near his chest.
Geone stepped closer and stared at him for a moment.Charlie looked silly to him—fast asleep, glasses still on.
Geone carefully removed them.
"You're my birthday gift," he whispered. "I'll take care of you."
He slipped his own watch off his wrist and put it onto Charlie's hand."From today, you're my friend," he whispered again.
"You are mine. Don't be friends with anyone else. Ok."
At the sound of Geone's voice, Charlion stirred and slowly opened his eyes.
The moment he did, Geone's face lit up with excitement.
"Oh—you're awake."
He quickly slipped off the bed and moved closer.
"Do you want some chocolate?"
Charlie shook his head.
But Geone still opened his drawer, took out a chocolate bar, and placed it in Charlie's hand.
"If you eat this chocolate," Geone said proudly,
"you'll fly through the air like Spider-Man."
Charlie took a small bite.
Geone's eyes brightened.
"From today, you're my friend. Okay?!!!"
Then his voice became serious.
"But one condition… You can't be friends with anyone else. Got it?"
He held out his hand.
This time, Charlie slowly placed his small hand into Geone's.
Geone squeezed it tightly and pulled him into a hug.
"From today… we will play together.
Watch TV together — Ninja Hattori too!
Go to school together....
Do homework together. yahooooooo...!"
Geone gently rubbed Charlie's head.
"Don't go to your home tomorrow. We're going to have so much fun."
Then, with a playful nudge, he tapped Charlie's nose.
"Look—your nose is totally like Batman's!"
Charlie stayed quiet, just looking at Geone.
Again, a chocolate was pushed into his palm.
"Now I'll tell you a story… about a tiger and a deer."
Softly stroking Charlie's hair, he began.
"Once upon a time,
there was a tiger who cared deeply for a deer.
The deer trusted the tiger completely—the tiger had saved it many times.
They were very close....
"One year, a terrible famine came. Food grew scarce. Many tigers didn't survive.
The tiger struggled, yet he stayed beside the deer, protecting it as always...
But during those hard days, something unfamiliar stirred inside him—a strange pull he didn't understand.
Not because he cared less, but because hunger changes everything...
"The deer still trusted the tiger entirely…"
Geone's voice thinned and faded.
Charlie's breathing evened out, warm and steady beside him.
Soon, Geone drifted off too—curled close, the unfinished story settling into the quiet room as they slept.
Continues....