The rain poured down in relentless sheets, soaking the young boy to the bone as he stood motionless, his small frame trembling beneath the weight of the world. His clothes, threadbare and mismatched, clung to his body, heavy with the unrelenting downpour. A few droplets found their way into his eyes, blurring his vision, but he did not care. The cold was nothing compared to the chill gnawing at his heart, a deep emptiness that had become his constant companion.

He had always been alone, even when he was surrounded by people. From the moment he had learned to speak, he had felt the absence of something—someone—that should have been there. His parents, the people who were supposed to love him, had left him when he was just a child. He remembered the day they disappeared as though it was yesterday. His father, once a towering figure of strength and confidence, had looked down at him with cold eyes, those same eyes that once held so much warmth. His mother, silent and withdrawn, had refused to even glance in his direction as she walked out the door, her back stiff, her face unreadable.

He had been told they were going away for a while, that it was just a trip, that everything would be fine. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the truth had slowly, painfully, become clear. They weren't coming back. They had abandoned him.

The boy had tried to understand why. He had asked the neighbors, the teachers, even the old man who lived in the house next to theirs, but no one had answers. They all just gave him pitying looks, eyes full of silent sympathy that only deepened his confusion. What had he done wrong? Why had they left him behind, in this empty house that no longer felt like home? Why had his father, who had once promised to protect him, vanished without a trace? Why had his mother, who was supposed to comfort him, turned her back without even a word of farewell?

Days passed, then weeks, and the boy learned to fend for himself. He grew quieter, more withdrawn, as the world around him seemed to grow colder and more distant. He stopped crying, stopped asking questions, stopped hoping. He had no choice but to learn how to survive alone.

The house that had once been filled with laughter now echoed with emptiness. The boy had tried to make it his own, to find some semblance of peace in the place where his family had once lived. But it was impossible. The walls were cold and silent, and the rooms felt suffocating, as though they were slowly closing in on him, trapping him in a prison of memories he couldn't escape.

And so, the boy wandered through the streets, looking for something—anything—that might give him a sense of belonging. He would watch other children playing with their parents, their laughter ringing out like music in the air, and he would feel a sharp pang in his chest. He would look at families walking hand in hand, and he would wonder what it felt like, to have someone who cared for you, someone who would never leave. He longed for a connection, a bond that would fill the hollow emptiness inside him.

But the longer he searched, the more he realized that he was invisible. No one seemed to notice him, not really. They would pass him by, their eyes sliding over him like he didn't even exist. He wasn't a part of their world, and they weren't a part of his. He was just a shadow, drifting through life without a place to call his own.

There were days when he would find himself staring at his reflection in the glass of the old shop windows, wondering who he was. The face that stared back at him was a stranger's face, unfamiliar and cold, with dark eyes that seemed to hold a depth of pain far beyond his years. His once-soft hair was matted from the rain, and his pale skin was blotched with dirt and grime. But it was his eyes, those eyes that seemed to look right through him, that frightened him the most. They were eyes that had seen too much, eyes that had learned too early that the world was a cruel and unforgiving place.

There were no answers to the questions that haunted him. No matter how hard he tried to find them, they eluded him. Why had they left? What had he done wrong? Why had they abandoned him to face the world alone?

The boy had no one to turn to. No friends to confide in, no family to take him in. All he had was the streets and the rain, the never-ending drizzle that seemed to wash away whatever traces of hope he once had. He had learned to live with the pain, to carry it with him like a weight that he could never set down. He had learned that there was no use in waiting for something that would never come. His parents weren't coming back. They had left him behind, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

But even in the depths of his despair, the boy couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was missing, something important, something that was just beyond his reach. It was as though he had forgotten something—something crucial, something that could explain the emptiness inside him.

That's when he heard the footsteps.

At first, they were faint, distant, barely audible over the sound of the rain. But then they grew louder, closer, until they were right behind him. The boy turned around quickly, his heart racing. He expected to see a stranger, perhaps a passerby or one of the few remaining people who still ventured out in the storm. But when he looked, all he saw was the empty street, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights.

He blinked, confused. Had he imagined it? Was he so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed someone walking toward him?

But then, the footsteps came again. Louder this time, as though the person was right behind him. He spun around again, his breath catching in his throat, his body tensed in anticipation.

This time, he saw them. A figure, cloaked in shadow, standing at the end of the street. The figure was tall, their face hidden beneath the hood of their cloak, but the presence was unmistakable. It was as if they had come from nowhere, appearing out of the darkness like a specter from his past.

The boy felt a strange pull in his chest, a feeling of familiarity, though he couldn't explain why. It was as though he knew this person, as though they were someone important—someone who had been part of his life, even if he couldn't remember them.

And then, without a word, the figure turned and began to walk away, disappearing into the rain-soaked night.

The boy stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, unable to move. He felt an overwhelming sense of longing, a deep, aching need to follow them. But what could he do? Who were they? And why had they appeared now, at this moment, when everything in his life felt like it was falling apart?

The rain continued to fall, the cold wind biting at his skin, but the boy stood there, motionless, his gaze fixed on the spot where the figure had been. He felt a surge of emotions—a strange mix of hope, fear, and confusion—as if something profound had just happened, something he couldn't fully understand.

As the minutes passed, the storm raged on, but the boy remained rooted to the spot, lost in the torrent of his thoughts. And then, almost without thinking, he whispered, barely audible above the sound of the rain, "Why did they leave me?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the world around him seemed to blur and fade into the darkness.

But somewhere, deep inside, the boy knew that the answer was out there, waiting to be discovered.