I stood on the platform, checking my phone. Mia was always late, but today she was really pushing it. As I glanced around, I noticed a little boy, no older than seven, sitting alone on a bench clutching a stuffed bunny.

“Hey there,” I said, approaching him. “Are you lost?”

“I can’t find my parents,” he whispered, eyes filled with fear.

“Do you want me to help you find them? We could go to the police.”

“No! Please don’t!” he exclaimed, anxious. “The police are looking for my parents because they sometimes shoplift to feed me.”

My heart ached for him. “No police, then. Where might they be?”

“They go to the park sometimes,” he said.

We walked to the park, but there was no sign of his parents. “They’re not here,” he said, looking like he was about to cry.

“Where else do they go?”

“Sometimes the mall, to collect scraps at the food court.”

At the mall, his eyes lit up at the arcade. I gave him some tokens, and he played happily. Just then, two police officers approached.

“Is that boy with you?” one asked.

“Yes. We’re looking for his parents.”

“He ran away from his foster family,” the officer explained gently.

“Is this true, Tommy?” I asked. He nodded, tears streaming. “I just wanted a fun day like I used to have with my real parents.”

I promised to visit him, and I did. Every week, we explored parks, restaurants, and malls. Our friendship grew, changing both our lives forever.