The shop owner entered slowly, opening the door, and the wooden bell rang softly but clearly, as if the whole place felt his arrival. Moments later, Menicha stepped in with him, calm but her eyes radiating unyielding resolve.
The shop owner looked inside, then at the boy, then at Menicha, and sneered in shock:
— "This is you, you fool?! Seems you couldn't find any decent work other than here, and you come despite having no self-respect… now you'll see a proper beating!"
Kalin didn't utter a word. He stared at the man with cold, piercing eyes, as if his small body held a power he hadn't yet realized.
The shop owner shouted provocatively:
— "Aren't you going to answer? I'm talking to you! Speak… or are you scared of me?"
Kalin remained silent. His calm irritated the man even more, who, in a fit of anger, slapped him across the face—but before any harm could happen, Menicha grabbed his hand tightly, her eyes fixed sharply:
— "Who are you? How dare you stop me?!"
Menicha laughed lightly with a hint of mockery, then spoke firmly:
— "Seems you don't know who I am. What did you plan to do to this boy? I think I've seen your deeds before you even acted. This boy is under my protection now, and you will not touch him. The police are on their way, and you will be held accountable for everything you did in the past."
The shop owner staggered back two steps, his heel hitting the edge of the wooden table behind him.
The arrogance he had carried for years vanished instantly under Menicha's grip and sharp gaze.
The shop owner stepped back, stunned by the teenager's audacity and her sharp gaze. He didn't know what to say.
At that moment, the bell rang again. Two police officers entered, their steps steady, boots echoing across the shop. One of them quickly assessed the scene—Menicha's hand still holding the man's wrist, and the boy standing silently behind her, his eyes unnaturally calm for his age.
— "Are you the owner of this store?" asked the officer in a formal, emotionless tone.
The man swallowed, trying to retreat with words as he always did:
— "There's a misunderstanding… just a joke, this kid—"
The second officer interrupted while opening his notebook:
— "We have a report of repeated assault on a minor."
Here, Kalin stepped forward, calm, eyes locked on the man:
— "That's him."
He pointed steadily.
— "He's the one who hit me. More than once."
Silence fell over the room. The shop owner looked at the boy as if seeing him truly for the first time. He wasn't weak as he remembered. He wasn't broken. He was standing, composed, his eyes carrying a mix of patience and controlled anger.
Kalin slowly lifted his jacket, revealing bruises and welts covering his body. Clear evidence of the suffering and injustice he endured. The officers recorded everything silently, their steps measured, every movement precise.
Menicha released the man's wrist, and in a low, firm voice said:
— "Your time with him is over."
He was led out of the shop, protesting as his voice faded… until it disappeared entirely.
Kalin stepped outside with Menicha. The air felt lighter, as if something heavy that had pressed on his chest had finally lifted. He paused, looking at his hands. No light. No sparks. Just… calm.
— "Are you okay?" Menicha asked.
He nodded slowly.
— "Yes… I feel like I've… regained something."
She smiled, a warm smile that didn't belong to the cruel world around them.
— "That's called justice, Kalin."
They walked together, his steps steadier now. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't the child running through cold rain… he was a boy beginning to understand himself.
Yet the questions remained. His sister… his powers… the deep pain still residing in his body. This confrontation was only the beginning.
Outside, the people had dragged the store owner into the car, holding him firmly. Kalin and Monicha watched from the sidewalk, observing quietly. Monicha held him gently, whispering softly, "Wait… I did everything I could for you."
Kalin gave a small, quiet smile. "I want to see my home."
Monicha nodded. "First, we need to return home and let you rest a little. After that, we'll search and get you back to your old home with your parents, okay?"
Kalin nodded. "Yes."
"Come on, Kalin, let's get into the car." Monicha opened the front door and slid in, Kalin beside her. She started driving, and he watched silently through the window. The wind tossed his hair as the city passed by—people walking, shop lights glowing, tall buildings, and the bright evening lights filling the streets.
Kalin sat beside Menicha in the front seat of the car, his eyes quietly observing everything around him. He felt strange, caught between comfort and hope, and the lingering sadness that clung to his heart. Menicha, driving gently and cautiously, was doing everything she could to reassure him and make him feel safe.
"I've done everything I could for you," she said softly, her hands gripping the steering wheel firmly.
Kalin gave a small smile, despite all he had been through. "I want to see my home," he said quietly, as if the words had come straight from his heart.
"First, we need to go back home so you can rest a little, then we'll start the search to return you to your old home with your parents," Menicha replied calmly, trying to ease the weight the child felt.
"Okay," Kalin responded, his eyes glimmering with a hint of anticipation.
They got into the car, and Menicha began driving. The wind teased his hair, and the outside sounds—the passersby, the store lights, the tall buildings—all filled the scene with the life of the city at sunset. Everything felt new to him, yet at the same time familiar; a touch of hope stirred within his small heart.
Kalin remained silent, watching the world around him, trying to remember everything from his past life, every memory that might be a key to finding his sister and his lost home. Yet he realized one thing: the journey was not over, and there was much more to do, and he was no longer alone.
Menicha glanced at him briefly and smiled. "We'll get there together… don't worry," she said, as if her words were restoring the sense of security he had lost long ago.
The car moved smoothly through the evening streets.
No one spoke.
The engine's low hum filled the silence, steady… almost comforting.
Kalin rested his head lightly against the window, his breath fogging the glass for a moment before fading away.
The city passed by in fragments.
Lights stretching like broken stars.
Faces that didn't know him.
Lives moving forward while his felt… paused.
Monicha kept her eyes on the road.
Her hands were firm on the steering wheel, disciplined—yet her shoulders carried a quiet weight.
Minutes passed.
Then Kalin spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you think… my parents are still looking for me?"
Monicha didn't answer immediately.
She slowed slightly at a red light, watching it turn from red… to yellow… to green.
"Yes," she said at last.
"I'm sure of it."
Kalin swallowed.
His fingers tightened around the edge of his jacket.
"I don't remember their faces clearly anymore," he admitted.
"Only… their voices. And the way home smelled."
Monicha glanced at him for a second—just a second.
"You don't lose a home because you forget parts of it," she said calmly.
"Home remembers you too."
Silence returned.
Kalin closed his eyes.
Behind his eyelids, images flickered—
rain, cold hands, Anya's smile, Kala's small fingers holding his sleeve.
His chest tightened.
"I didn't cry," he said suddenly.
"When they took him away… I didn't feel anything."
Monicha understood without asking who him was.
"That doesn't mean you're heartless," she replied softly.
"It means you survived."
The car continued forward.
Streetlights washed over Kalin's face again and again—
light… shadow… light.
In the reflection of the window, he saw his own eyes.
Too calm.
Too old.
"Miss Monicha," he said quietly,
"Am I… strange?"
She stopped at another light.
"No," she answered without hesitation.
"You're strong in a way the world hasn't taught you yet."
The light turned green.
They drove on.
And for the first time in a long while,
Kalin didn't feel like he was running.