Maybe

Chapter 40 Not Again

The sun was already high, casting harsh shadows across the driveway, as I walked towards my car. The sight of it—still with the dent from that damn crash—made my frustration bubble back to the surface. I ran my fingers along the hood, trying to ignore the faint smell of the collision from that day.

That's when I saw him. The man who had crashed into my car. The one with the apologetic eyes that I never seemed to get out of my head.

He saw me too, and his body stiffened immediately, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Well, well," I called out, crossing my arms, the corners of my mouth twitching. "Look who it is. The man of the hour."

He immediately turned his head away, pretending not to notice. As if I didn't know exactly what he was doing.

"Oh, come on," I teased, walking closer, watching him attempt to ignore me. "You're not going to pretend like you don't recognize me, are you?"

He didn't respond, but I could see his jaw tighten. I was enjoying the little game, even though I could tell he wasn't.

Before I could say anything else, a young voice cut through the tension.

"Big brother!" A small boy, probably no older than five, trotted down the driveway with big, eager eyes. His shirt was faded, and his shoes were worn down, but his grin was wide, practically infectious.

The man—my mystery crash guy—turned his attention to the boy, kneeling down to meet him at eye level.

"What's up, little man?" he asked, his tone softer than I expected.

"I want the toy! I want it!" the boy insisted, holding out a worn-out action figure with a bit of its paint chipped off.

The man sighed, his expression shifting. "I told you, we'll get it when we can, okay? Not now."

The boy pouted, looking like he might cry, his little hands clutching the toy tightly. "But I want it now..."

I watched the interaction quietly, a sinking feeling settling in my chest. It didn't take a genius to figure out the situation. There was more to this than I realized. The man looked worn—like he carried a heavy load every day. And the little boy, with his innocent hope, was a reminder of how much they struggled.

I wanted to help. The impulse was there, like a tug at my heartstrings. But how? Helping in this way would only make them feel small. I could see it in his eyes—the way he was trying to keep his pride intact. If I just handed them money or something out of pity, it would only add to their burden.

Then, a thought struck me.

Later that day, though, I found myself back in the store, picking out the toy car the boy had been so desperate to get. I wasn't sure why I was doing it, but I couldn't shake the image of the boy's sad face, his little hands clutching it so tightly.

I walked around to the backyard, spotting the boy there, playing with a worn-out ball.

He looked up as I approached, surprised.

I walked over to the little boy, who looked up at me curiously.

"Hey," I said, my voice gentle. "You want that toy, right?"

His eyes lit up. "Yes! I want it!"

I smiled, leaning down to his level. "Here's what I'll do," I said, pulling out my own spare toy from my bag—the kind of plush, colorful thing that made kids happy. "How about we trade?"

His eyes widened. "You'll give me that one?"

I nodded, handing it to him. "It's for you. But only if you trade me that one," I added with a wink, pointing to the worn-out toy.