My flight got delayed, and I was whiling away time at the terminal when a lost-looking little boy walked past me. There were no parents nearby, and I decided to make sure that the little one knew where he was going. I approached him with a gentle smile and asked if he was okay.
He shook his head, tears filling his eyes.
“Shhh, no need to cry. We are going to find your parents. Do you have tickets with you or documents?”

He looked up at me with these big, watery eyes and nodded, then slowly unzipped his backpack and handed it to me without a word.

Yanis,” he whispered. His voice was barely audible.
“Okay, Yanis… where are your parents?”
He looked down and didn’t answer.

I motioned for us to sit down on a bench off to the side of the crowd. I kept glancing around, half-expecting someone to come running over, yelling that he’d taken their bag by mistake. But no one came. He was alone. And the more I looked, the more I noticed how tired he looked. His sneakers were worn down, and his hoodie had a hole near the sleeve.
“Yanis, is that money yours?” I asked softly.

He hesitated, then nodded once. “My uncle gave it to me. He told me to bring it to a man in a red jacket at Gate C12.