The library staff sometimes glance his way but say nothing. It feels like everyone is complicit in their silence.
I’ve tried asking a few neighbors, but their quick changes of subject hint at discomfort or fear.
It’s as if there’s an invisible boundary around him that nobody dares to cross.
I remember the way he deflected my attempts at conversation with a quiet intensity unusual for a kid his age.
His eyes seem to carry the weight of something too heavy for a child to bear.
I’m caught watching from the sidelines, unsure if I should intervene or look away.
Each step I take closer seems to push him further away.
The power imbalance is stark, yet invisible.
He’s under someone else’s control, yet who that might be remains a mystery.
Adults around him give him a wide berth, like he’s a ghost only I can see.
