Alaric was still sitting on the rickety bench beneath the mango tree. Both his elbows rested on his knees, his fingers tightly clutching the crumpled piece of paper with the address on it. He exhaled deeply, as if trying to let go of all the weariness weighing on him. Nearly defeated, he began to wonder if this search, too, would end in vain.
His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, watching shadows drift between the houses. From time to time, he heard the sound of a passing motorbike or the lively shouts of children playing nearby. But it all felt distant, as if it didn't belong in his world. There was only one thought running through his mind: "Is that old man still living around here?"
Then, in the quiet of his thoughts, he heard something. A soft sound, the scrape of wheels against asphalt. It creaked and stuttered, as if it was being pushed with great difficulty. Alaric turned his head instinctively. From the far end of a narrow, twisting alley, an old man began to emerge.
