After the call ended, I sat in silence, grappling with an onslaught of emotions. Memories of that day, ten years prior, flooded back. The day I had coldly sent away the boy who had entered my life through circumstances I hadn’t chosen. The boy I had dismissed as nothing more than a burden.

The days leading up to Saturday were filled with restlessness. I was haunted by the possibility of facing the consequences of my actions. Each passing moment increased my anxiety, but I knew I had to go. I owed him that much, at least.

Saturday evening arrived, and I found myself standing outside the art gallery, hesitating before stepping inside. The air was thick with anticipation and fear. As I entered, the vibrant colors of the artwork seemed to mock my dull, colorless heart. The gallery buzzed with voices, but it all seemed muted to me. My focus was singular — find him, the boy I had wronged.