Adin walked down the city streets, the weight of the small bag on his shoulder heavier than it should feel.
The sun was only just barely starting to rise, casting an orange glow upon the pale skyline.
His heart was pounding with a mix of fear and excitement. He was free-finally free-but that freedom came with an unsettling emptiness. No home, no family, no clear direction.
Just the open road and the unknown future ahead.
He meandered aimlessly as if to rid his body and heart of the clinging sadness - it was sad to leave the orphanage. The memory of Sammy's tearful hug clung to him, and in his chest a pang ached. He knew that he had to move on, but every step forward seemed a step away from a piece of his soul.
The city came alive around him. Shops opened their doors, and the morning commuters started their rush along the sidewalks.
Adin watched the faces passing by-businessmen in suits, students with rucksacks, mothers with prams-and felt a weird kind of disconnection. They all seemed to be off somewhere, to have a purpose in their lives. But him?
He reached into his pocket and fished out the crumpled two-hundred dollars Kaylie had given him. It wasn't a great deal of money, but it was all he had in the world.
He remembered the way she'd folded the bills with such care and pressed them into his hand, her eyes black with fear and hope.
She'd always been there for him, more of a mother than he'd ever known. Disappointing her weighed hard on his mind.
Continuing on in this walk, Adin found himself drawn into a small park nestled between two high-rise buildings.
It was quiet here, several benches scattered through the trees, and a gentle-falling fountain bubbled away in the center.
He sat down on one of the benches, letting out a long sigh. The city was too big, too overwhelming, and he felt just a small, insignificant speck within it.
His mind wandered back to the orphanage. It was a place he had wished to escape from, but nonetheless, it was home for as long as he could remember.
The old creaking of the wood floors, Kaylie's cooking, the laughter of the younger kids-all gone now. And for the first time, Adin realised just how alone he really was.
He thought about Mariah, the soft smile, the way she always seemed to understand him without words.
He had never been able to tell her how he felt, how much he cared for her. It was as though the opportunity slipped through his fingers, and it felt that way.
A part of him wanted to go back, to see her one last time, but he knew that was impossible. He had chosen what he wanted to do, and there was no turning back.
Time dragged as Adin sat in the park, his mind numb. The morning wore on into afternoon-the sun climbing high in the sky.
His belly growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since the night before. He thought of buying something from one of the food carts lining the adjacent street but then decided against it.
He couldn't afford to be less than cautious with his money; two hundred dollars could disappear very quickly.
But finally, hunger won, and Adin crossed the street to a small bakery. The sweet smell of newly baked bread and pastry hit his nostrils the moment he went inside.
A little bell above the door jingled when he opened it, and a middle-aged woman from behind the counter greeted him with a bright smile.
"Good morning! What can I get for you?" she asked in an extremely cheerful voice.
Adin had glanced in the display case, his mouth watering at all the baked goods on offer. He chose a simple croissant-a cheaply priced item on the menu-and handed over a few dollars.
"Thank you," he said quietly, taking the croissant and searching out a seat near the window.
He ate slowly, relishing every mouthful, but the food did little to fill the void inside him. He watched people move down the sidewalk outside, each caught up in their life, their problems.
It struck him how small his own problems seemed in comparison. He was just one person among millions, and the world would keep turning whether he succeeded or failed.
He crumpled the napkin in his hand over the finished croissant. A new determination grew.
He left the orphanage for a reason-to find himself, to find out what it is all really about. He couldn't afford bad feelings.
With that thought, he stood up and walked out of the bakery into the city once more.
The cacophony, the energy on the streets somehow contributed to his starving being, and for the first time since he had left the orphanage, Adin felt this excitement within him.
He did not know where he went and what he would do, but he was ready to face whatever is ahead.
He walked down the street, and outside of a community center, he saw a notice board. A flyer advertising a part-time bookstore job near him caught his eyes.
Well, it wasn't much, but it was a good start. He tore off one tab with the contact information and decided to check it out.
Adin went to the bookstore, a little bookshop nestled on one of the queter side streets. It smelled like old books and wood polish inside, and as he pushed open the door, a little bell rang above his head. An older man with glasses peered up from behind the counter.
"Can I help you?" the man asked over the rim of his glasses.
"I saw the flyer outside about the job," Adin said, trying to keep the quake out of his voice. "Is it still available?"
The man studied him a moment before nodding. "It is. Do you have any experience?"
Adin shook his head. "No, but I'm willing to learn."
The man's face relaxed, and he smiled. "That's good enough for me. The name's Mr. Thompson. Why don't you come by tomorrow morning, and we'll see how you do?"
Relief washed over Adin, and he returned the smile. "Thank you, Mr. Thompson. I'll be here.
As Adin left the bookstore, a small spark of hope flickered to life in his chest. It was just a part-time job, but at least it was something. A step in the right direction. Maybe, he allowed himself to hope, he could actually make it on his own after all.
The sun had already begun to set when Adin found his way to the park. One after another, city lights flickered on, casting a glow over the pavement. Adin sat on the same bench he had occupied earlier that day, feeling calm in a way he hadn't in a long time.