One Night with a Little Stranger

When I agreed to let the boy stay the night, I didn’t think it through.

Actually, I didn’t think at all. My brain had stopped functioning the second Eli flashed me that dimpled smile.

Now, here I was—standing in my kitchen, staring at him as he sat at the dining table with his suitcase parked beside him, humming happily while swinging his tiny legs back and forth.

Like he belonged here.

“Alright,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “First things first—you can’t just go around calling random people Auntie and barging into their houses. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Auntie~” he replied sweetly, without a trace of guilt.

I squinted. “You’re not listening, are you?”

He blinked innocently. “I’m listening! Auntie said I can’t call strangers Auntie… but you’re not a stranger. You’re my Auntie now.”

I groaned into my hands. This kid was going to give me wrinkles.

Still, I couldn’t let him starve. After rummaging through my fridge, I reheated some leftover spaghetti, setting a steaming plate in front of him. “Eat slowly, alright? It’s hot.”

His eyes lit up like fireworks. “Spaghetti! Mommy used to make this too!”

The way his little voice softened at “Mommy” made my chest ache. Carefully, he picked up the fork and began twirling the noodles, his tiny hands struggling but determined. I caught myself smiling as I watched him slurp them up with exaggerated satisfaction, sauce smudging the corners of his mouth.

“Delicious!” he announced proudly, his cheeks puffed like a chipmunk.

I handed him a napkin, shaking my head. “You’re a messy eater.”

“And Auntie is a good cook,” he added with absolute seriousness.

For a moment, I forgot he was a stranger. For a moment, the apartment didn’t feel so empty.

After dinner, I tried asking questions again. “Eli, where exactly did you come from? Do you remember your address? Your parents’ names?”

He tilted his head, thinking hard. “Daddy… is very tall. And Mommy smells like flowers. That’s all I remember.”

“That doesn’t help much,” I muttered, though I didn’t want to discourage him.

His lashes drooped a little as he whispered, “But… Mommy said I’d find home if I followed the stars.”

I froze. Followed the stars? What kind of instructions were those?

Before I could ask further, he yawned widely, rubbing his eyes. It was late. Too late for a child to be awake.

“Come on,” I said gently, leading him to the spare room I usually used for storage. “You can sleep here tonight.”

The room wasn’t much—just a small bed, a desk, and shelves filled with random boxes—but Eli’s face lit up as if I had just shown him a palace. He climbed onto the bed with surprising ease, hugging his suitcase like a teddy bear.

“Auntie, will you read me a story?” he asked hopefully.

I hesitated. It had been years since anyone asked me that. But one look at his expectant eyes and I caved, pulling a random children’s book from the shelf.

As I read aloud, his little breaths grew slower, softer, until he finally drifted off to sleep.

I stood there for a long moment, just watching him. The rise and fall of his tiny chest, the way his lips curved faintly even in sleep, the absolute innocence of his presence.

Something deep inside me stirred—something I hadn’t felt in years.

Warmth.

But along with it came fear. Because tomorrow, I’d have to call the authorities. Tomorrow, I’d have to let him go.

I turned off the light, whispering quietly into the dark. “Just one night, Eli. Just one night.”

Yet even as I lay awake in my own bed, listening to the faint sound of his soft breathing down the hall, I knew I was lying to myself.

Because somehow, this little stranger had already found a way into my heart.

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