"Okay, I can carry you, I guess," a little girl's voice spoke softly before me, breaking through the haze of my exhaustion.
I blinked, taken aback. "You can't carry me?" I said almost instinctively, as if my body had moved without my permission. The absurdity of the situation struck me. Here I was, on the brink of collapse, and a child was offering to help me.
"But I can," she replied, her tone laced with an unexpected confidence that momentarily caught me off guard.
I studied her small frame, the way her eyes shone with determination despite the tears glistening on her cheeks. "You're crying," I said, surprised at how easily the words flowed from my lips. I didn't even want to speak, yet my body seemed to betray me, urging me to connect with her.
"No, I'm not," she insisted, quickly brushing away the tears with the back of her hand. Her face makes me smile
