The park was alive with late-summer heat, the kind that made the air shimmer and tempers short. She had felt his eyes before she saw his smile, that fixed, wrinkled grin that made her slow her steps and yank out her earbuds. Years of warnings echoed in her mind as she confronted him, voice sharp, chin lifted, already certain of the villain in this story.
But his answer came soft, without a trace of shame or defense. He spoke of age, of pain, of how the world had grown heavier on his shoulders. Then he admitted that seeing someone young and strong, still running toward life instead of away from it, gave him a reason to keep breathing. Her anger cracked into something fragile. She leaned down, kissed his cheek, and jogged away—suddenly aware that sometimes, the gaze you fear is just an old man holding on to hope.