Sarah's POV
The moment I placed the sandwich in his hands, my heart began to pound harder. I could feel the cold air burning my cheeks, but I did not care. Something about standing there in front of him made me feel strangely exposed, like he could see more of me than he should.
I turned away fast, almost tripping on the edge of the sidewalk. My breath came out shaky. I tried to steady it, but every step felt heavy. I kept thinking, What if I made a mistake. What if I needed that food later. What if this act makes my day harder.
But then another thought whispered back. You did something good. That should count for something.
Yet even that thought did not calm the knot twisting in my stomach.
Behind me, I felt his eyes following me. Not in a scary way. Not in a way that made me want to run. It was different. Soft. Curious. Like he was trying to understand why I would give something I needed so badly.
I reached the corner and paused. My chest tightened. The bag in my coat felt lighter now that one sandwich was gone, and somehow that made everything else feel heavier. Rent. Work. My mother's medicine. All of it pressed against me like bricks.
I forced myself to keep walking.
But just as I stepped into the street, a car honked loudly. I jumped back, heart in my throat. The car sped past, the driver yelling something rude out the window. I clutched my coat and tried to breathe again.
Great. Another rough morning.
I shook my head and kept moving. I had to get to work. If I was even five minutes late, Mrs. Annie would give me that sharp look that made me feel twelve years old again.
As I hurried toward the bakery, I couldn't stop myself from glancing back. He was still there. Sitting quietly. Holding the sandwich like it meant something more than breakfast. His thick beard covered most of his face, but I could still see the way his eyes softened when I looked at him.
Kind eyes.
Eyes that saw people.
Eyes that made me feel seen.
The thought made my steps slow for a moment, but I forced myself to look away.
At the bakery door, the morning hit fast. Customers lined up. Ovens beeped. Maria called my name. I tied my apron and got to work. The smell of baking bread filled the room, warm and sweet. Normally it comforted me, but today all I could think about was him.
Why did I care so much?
Why did his eyes stay in my head?
Why did giving him one sandwich feel like giving away something bigger?
I kneaded dough and tried to focus, but my mind kept drifting. I wondered if he had eaten it yet. I wondered if it tasted good. I wondered if he smiled again after I left.
Every few minutes my eyes drifted to the window. I told myself to stop. I told myself it meant nothing. But I still looked.
And each time, he was there. Watching. Calm. Silent. Almost like he was waiting to make sure I was okay.
I pushed the thought away and finished my morning tasks. When the rush slowed, I slipped outside for a quick break. The cold hit me again, but I didn't care. I needed air. I needed space from my own thoughts.
I turned toward his corner.
He was still sitting there, but this time, he was already looking in my direction. Our eyes met. For a moment he did not blink. He just held my gaze like he was searching for something in my face.
My hands began to shake. I hid them in my pockets. I hated that someone could affect me this much. Especially someone I didn't even know.
I looked down, but his voice reached me before I could turn away.
"Thank you," he said again.
It was quiet, almost carried away by the wind. But I heard it. And there was something in his tone that tugged at the edges of my heart.
I nodded and gave a small smile. "You're welcome."
He smiled back. Not big. Not wide. Just a soft curve of his lips that felt warmer than the sun.
I went back inside quickly. My chest felt tight, but in a strange, warm way.
The rest of the day moved slowly. My legs hurt. My back ached. But every time I felt myself fading, I remembered that tiny smile, and somehow it gave me strength to keep going.
When my shift ended, the sky had brightened. I stepped outside again, hugging my bag close. I needed to catch the bus to my second job.
I walked down the street, not expecting anything. But as I passed the coffee shop, I looked toward his corner again without meaning to.
He wasn't eating anymore. He had finished the sandwich. The wrapper was folded neatly beside him. He lifted his head as I approached.
Our eyes met again. And this time, it felt different. Stronger. Like he was waiting for something.
I swallowed and kept moving.
But then something strange happened.
He stood up.
I froze. He never stood up. Not once since the first day I saw him months ago. He always stayed on the blanket. Still. Quiet. Hidden.
Seeing him rise made a small chill run down my spine.
His posture was steady. His shoulders straight. He did not move like someone weak or tired. He moved like someone who had control. Someone used to power. Someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
But his clothes didn't match that confidence. His beard hid most of his face. His hair was messy. To anyone else, he would look like just another homeless man trying to survive the winter.
But not to me.
Not right now.
There was something else beneath the layers. Something sharp. Something watching.
I looked away quickly, pretending I didn't notice. My feet sped up. I didn't know why, but my heart was beating fast again.
I reached the end of the street and turned the corner.
But curiosity pulled at the back of my mind until I stopped walking.
Slowly, quietly, I peeked back.
He was still standing. Still watching. Still silent.
Then something happened that made my stomach drop.
He reached into the pocket of his torn coat.
And pulled out a phone.
Not a cheap phone. Not something old or broken.
A shiny, expensive phone. Clean. Perfect. The kind of phone someone with real money carried. Someone with a good job. Someone with a life far from the cold sidewalk.
My breath caught.
He looked down at the screen. His fingers moved fast. Like someone who used phones often. Someone who knew how technology worked. This was not the behavior of a man who couldn't afford a warm jacket.
He typed. Paused. Looked up in my direction.
Then typed again.
My heart thudded hard.
He raised the phone. The screen lit his face. The thick beard could not hide the seriousness in his eyes.
Then he pressed send.
I felt the air around me shift.
A moment later, a small vibration came from the phone in his hand.
He read the reply slowly.
Then he typed one last message.
Clear. Direct. Final.
"I think I found her."
My whole body went cold.
Found who?
Found me?
Why? What did this mean?
I did not know yet.
But something big had just begun.