It hit me like a memory snapping into focus. The same young man who had rescued us in the middle of nowhere.
I felt a rush of pride — and then, unease.
I did. Too well.
A few weeks after that encounter, I had filed a city complaint — a standard zoning violation — against a small tutoring center in the Old Market District. Fire hazards, paperwork delays, poor ventilation. I was just doing my job.
The center’s name? Bright Steps.
I froze. “Oh no,” I whispered.
Amrita’s eyes filled with realization. “He worked there. That was his job.”
I felt the weight of it settle deep in my chest.
“I Remember You.”
The next day, the news replayed Zayd’s acceptance speech. His voice, steady but full of emotion, echoed through our living room.
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