A week later, I went to his public meet-and-greet. Didn’t tell Amrita. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for—maybe forgiveness.
When I reached the front of the line, he looked at me.
My heart pounded. “We met years ago. My car broke down.”
Recognition lit his face. “Route 9. You gave me a ride.”
He smiled. “That night changed something for me. I was exhausted. Ready to quit. That job barely paid. But after I dropped you off, I thought—maybe the world notices when you try to do good. I stuck with it. Saved up. Got a scholarship. One thing led to another.”
I felt breathless. He saw me as part of his origin story.
“I think I hurt you,” I said. “I worked in zoning. I flagged Bright Steps. I didn’t know you worked there.”
He didn’t flinch.
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