Then, two barefoot, dirt-smudged twin boys approached me cautiously.
They asked if I had any leftovers to spare.
The moment I looked into their faces—faces so strikingly alike yet smeared with the grime of hardship—it felt like time paused.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Excuse me, mister,” one of the boys said, his voice barely audible over the restaurant’s din.
My eyes shifted to their small, bare feet, dirt etched into their skin.
The contrast between their reality and the opulence of my surroundings was jarring.
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