His Knees, His Pleas, But Our Son's in Peace

We walked further, the sound of the children's laughter fading behind us. After a few moments, we entered a quieter, more clinical part of the building. The vibrant energy of the kindergarten gave way to the sterile formality of a research

environment.

presence

We stopped in front of a large set of glass doors. Through them, I saw a conference room. Inside, older scientists sat around a long table, heads bent over papers and screens. But what caught my eye wasn't them-it was the young man sitting at the head of the table, his commanding the room despite his youth.

He wore a sharp suit, his dark hair neatly combed, but his face was serious and cold, almost detached. His eyes were fixed on

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the documents in front of him, barely

acknowledging the conversation

happening around him. There was something about him-something distant, authoritative, and... unreachable.

"That's Dr. Carlos," Vesta whispered beside me, her voice barely audible. "He's the

head of this organization. Brilliant researcher, M.D., but... not

exactly the

warmest person you'll meet."

I watched him for a moment,

I

fascinated by

how the older scientists seemed to defer to him, despite the age gap. There was an air

of quiet authority around him, one that

didn't need to be spoken to be understood.

"He's... young," I said, my voice low, not

wanting to interrupt the scene unfolding behind the glass. Vesta nodded. "He is. But he's responsible

for everything you've seen today-the

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kindergarten, the volunteer program, the research that's saved so many lives. He's dedicated his life to this work."

I continued watching Carlos, noticing how he barely looked up from his documents, how his posture remained rigid and focused. It was as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, and he bore it with an almost inhuman detachment. There was something i intriguing about him, something I couldn't quite place. His -coldness, his distance-it made me curious. What kind of man carried such a heavy burden with such detachment?

I followed her as we left the research

wing, but my thoughts lingered on Carlos?NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

There was something about him that

unsettled me, something I couldn't quite

understand. But I shook it off and focused

on the present. Vesta led me through more hallways, explaining the various

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departments and programs within the organization.

As we walked, I couldn't help but think about everything I had seen today-the children in the kindergarten, the life this organization had breathed into families who had no hope. It was remarkable, and I

could see why Vesta had dedicated herself to this place. It felt like something

important, something bigger than any of

us.

us.

And yet, there was a heaviness to it all.

The work being done here wasn't without its challenges, its costs. The weight of responsibility hung in the air, especially around Carlos. I wondered what it would be like to be a part of this, to contribute to something so life-changing.

As I turned back toward the hallway, the distant sound of footsteps echoed again, and I couldn't shake the feeling that

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stepping into this world might change more than just the lives of others-it might change mine, too. A sense of anticipation stirred in my chest, mingling with

uncertainty.

Maybe this place, with all its complexities

and challenges, held the answers I didn't

even know

I was searching for. Perhaps,

here, I could finally rebuild what I had lost and find the healing, peace, and strength I

desperately needed to move forward,

piece by piece.

As I stood in the courtyard, Carlos's face

haunted

d my thoughts. His cold, indifferent expression was etched deeply in my

mind-a stark contrast to the warmth I

had found with Vesta and the vibrancy of the kindergarten.

His face was pale, almost ascetic, as

though life had drained the color from

him, leaving behind sharp, rigid lines. His

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55

eyes, always cast downward, barely

flickered toward anyone around him. It

was as

if he had built a wall so high that

not even the most pressing matters could

breach it. Carlos seemed distant,

untouchable, as if he existed in a world

separate from everyone else.

I wandered past the fountain, letting the sound of the water soothe my thoughts. I ¦ hadn't even noticed Carlos standing by

one

of the trees until I almost walked

straight into him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I stammered, startled by the unexpected encounter.

Carlos looked at me, his face unreadable.

His eyes were as cold as always, but for a moment, they met mine-long enough to send a shiver down my spine.

He didn't say anything, didn't

acknowledge my apology, just stood there,

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distant. His posture was stiff, his hands loosely folded in front of him, as though

every movement was calculated to avoid

engaging with the world.

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