It was a cold and busy Monday evening when Libby walked into her favorite café, craving a moment of peace. She ordered a regular coffee and settled into her usual seat by the window, watching the endless stream of people hurrying through the streets of New York City. Today had been exhausting. Back-to-back meetings, endless emails, and a boss who thought “urgent” meant “drop everything right now.” Libby sighed, rubbing her temples as she pulled out her iPad. Another day filled with work deadlines. Nothing new. “Thank you,” she murmured

The night was bitterly cold, the kind that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. The road stretched before me, nearly empty, covered in a thick sheet of ice and fresh snow. My car’s headlights cut through the darkness, reflecting off the frozen pavement, casting long, eerie shadows. I turned up the heat, rubbing my hands together, trying to chase away the chill. It was late—too late for anyone to be out in weather like this. And then, I saw him. A small figure, barely visible

The underground passage hummed with the noise of people rushing by, each step echoing off the cold concrete walls. Amidst the chaos, 14-year-old Martin sat on the ground, his small shoe-shining kit laid out before him. His eyes scanned the crowd, his heart silently begging for a customer. “Just a handful today,” he whispered to himself. “Just a handful… please.” His stomach growled in protest. The two slices of bread he’d had for breakfast felt like they had been eaten days ago. He reached for his water bottle and took