The Hand

One afternoon,

outside school,

a parent

held out a hand,

just as they always had.

The teenager smiled.

Then quietly slipped

both hands

into their pockets.

"I'm okay."

"I can walk."

For a moment,

the hand

stayed in the air.

Then,

it slowly came back.

"Okay."

the parent smiled.

And together,

they walked home.

Not hand in hand.

Just...

side by side.

That night,

the teenager

looked through

an old photo album.

There they were.

Crossing a street.

Tiny fingers

wrapped tightly

around that same hand.

Holding on

as if

they would never let go.

They smiled.

They couldn't remember

when

they had stopped

holding hands.

Years passed.

One day,

they crossed another street.

This time,

the young adult

looked beside them,

and gently reached out.

"Careful."

they whispered.

The parent smiled.

Without saying a word,

they held the hand

for just a moment.

The traffic lights changed.

They kept walking.

Together.