'Where do I go?'
That was the question 16-year-old Vio asked himself as he stood in front of the police station, his back turned to it—he had just been kicked out.
He still couldn't wrap his head around how things had spiraled so far, so fast. He hadn't even had time to process his mother's suicide or his father's sudden death from a heart attack. Now, he was alone. Homeless. And he hadn't even finished high school.
Ever since his family went bankrupt, strange things have kept happening. Someone had filed a report accusing his late father of forging documents and altering Vio's birth records.
'Why would he do that?'
That accusation led the police to force Vio into a medical examination. He had always known he was underage—there was no doubt in his mind. But when the results came in, the officers told him he was legally eighteen.
Eighteen? That meant no access to shelters, no government help, and no school. Nothing.
And so, in the heart of winter, when people without shelter froze to death on the streets, Vio found himself out in the cold.
He walked aimlessly through the snow, his thoughts spinning. Was there anyone he could turn to?
Yes—his father's words came back to him.
"Son," his father had said with a smile, "this is Frien, my closest friend. He never left my side, even during my darkest days. If anything ever happens to me… go to him. He'll help you."
Vio had always treated his father's words like sacred scripture. He had memorized Frien's phone number and address. But with no money for a phone call and no bus fare, he walked the entire way, his thin legs barely carrying him.
'There's nothing left…'
By the time arrived, he was gripping his thighs just to force himself to keep walking. At last, he reached the house—a modest villa, far smaller than his family's former home.
He wasn't short, but no matter how much he stretched, he couldn't reach the doorbell.
'Was it always this high?'
He looked around for something to step on but found nothing. He couldn't knock either—iron bars blocked the way. With no other option, he sat down in the snow and waited.
'Maybe they're on vacation…'
That wouldn't be unusual for people of their social class.
He hugged his knees and sat on the frozen ground. Snow began to fall, covering him like a shroud. The cold crept deeper into his bones.
He waited… and waited. Just as hunger began gnawing at him and he considered standing up to search for food, the door finally opened.
His heart leapt. Hope surged back into his veins.
Standing there was Sarin—Frien's daughter, his childhood friend, the one who used to call him constantly for every little thing. Even Vio used to get annoyed by her clinginess sometimes, but he never let it show. He didn't want to hurt her.
"Sarin!" he called out with joy.
But the joy quickly drained from his face.
She wasn't smiling. Her usual sparkle, the one she always had when she saw him, was gone.
"You…?" She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to recognize him. "Who are you?"
Vio froze. His mouth opened, but no words came.
"I… I'm…" he stammered, the same word repeating, falling apart in his mouth. "I… I…"
"What are you waiting for?" came a voice from behind Sarin.
Frien appeared.
"Who the hell are you?" Frien snapped. "Where's the driver? He needs to be fired!"
'What… what's going on?'
Frien stepped past the door, brushing Vio aside as if he were invisible.
"Where is he? These people are all useless!" Frien shouted, deliberately avoiding Vio's eyes.
A car arrived to pick them up. Neither Sarin nor Frien looked at Vio as they hurried inside, like they were trying to flee.
Desperate, Vio reached out and grabbed Frien's hand.
"Uncle Frien! Don't you remember me? My father—Nafer, remember Nafer?!"
"Get off me!" Frien shouted, yanking his hand away and shoving Vio to the ground. "I don't know you! I don't know your father!"
He climbed into the car. Vio scrambled up and slammed his hand against the window—Sarin was on the other side, looking anywhere but at him.
'Did I get the wrong house? Impossible. Did they lose their memory? Both of them?'
As his thoughts swirled in chaos, Sarin finally turned to look at him. Just for a moment. Her eyes told him everything.
'They're pretending.'
The car sped away, leaving Vio with nothing but air to lean on. He collapsed onto the icy ground, palms bleeding from the fall.
His father's words—words once etched into his heart—now felt discarded like garbage.
From that day on, the streets became his only shelter.
Not that the streets cared.
He drifted from alley to alley, curling up wherever the shadows offered shelter. The biting cold was his only faithful companion. Dumpster lids became dinner plates, and spoiled scraps were his daily bread. Like a hundred others, he searched. But he was slower. Frailer.
Most nights, hunger was his lullaby.
So he adapted.
The moment his fingers touched food—half-eaten, frozen, or rotting—he shoved it into his mouth without thinking. Hesitation meant loss. Someone faster, stronger, hungrier might snatch it away. And if that happened… he'd go another night with nothing but emptiness gnawing at his insides.
To Vio, hunger meant no food for days, not just skipping a meal. Fullness was a fairy tale.
Still, he clung to his father's teachings.
"Never humiliate yourself," his father had once said. "If someone won't help you, that's their shame, not yours."
"Never steal," he'd warned. "There's nothing more valuable than what you earn with your own hands."
"Never lie," he had taught. "Lies make you weak. Truth earns respect—even if it hurts."
Vio worshipped his father. Even as his ribs poked through his skin, even when trash became his home, he refused to let go of those teachings.
But he forgot something important.
He forgot the warmth of his old home. He got used to the cold kiss of the street.
What would happen if someone reminded him what warmth felt like?
Vio's life had always been a storm of twists and turns. Just when things began to settle, everything would fall apart again.
It was a night so cold it felt like the sun had abandoned the Earth. Even the locals stayed indoors.
The alleys were silent for nearly a week. No one went to restaurants. Vio searched every bin but found nothing.
He chewed on snow—not just for water, but to quiet his screaming stomach.
How much longer could he survive like this?
On the final night of that frozen week, his body began to give in. His stomach felt glued to his spine. His limbs bled from cracked skin. He didn't even try to move anymore—he had no energy left.
Curled up in a corner, hugging his legs to his chest, burying his face between his knees and the wall, hoping to sleep through the hunger. It was the only way he'd learned to preserve even a shred of body heat.
Just as death began to pull him under, disguised in the gentle lull of sleep…
His body surrendered, sinking into the cold embrace of the pavement, as if his soul had mistaken exhaustion for peace. Each breath came slower, shallower—until even pain began to fade.
And then—
A voice pulled him back.
"Boy," said an old man's voice behind him, "life's tough, isn't it?"