The sun was setting, flooding the sky with warm shades of gold and purple. Arseniy Valeryevich Morozov, director of a large city shopping center, wearily leaned back into the soft leather seat of his car. After a long meeting, his thoughts were tangled, and a persistent fatigue throbbed in his head. Outside the window, noisy, faceless streets passed by until his gaze caught on a small park where a modest crowd had gathered beneath old lindens.
“Stop the car,” he suddenly asked the driver.
Pavel looked back at the mirror in surprise, slowing down.
“Right here? It’s better to go a bit further, to the parking lot. You could get fined — stopping here isn’t allowed…”
“Here,” Arseniy Valeryevich interrupted sharply, making it clear arguing was pointless.
The car gently braked by the sidewalk. The man got out, adjusted the sleeve of his expensive jacket, and slowly walked toward the park. The circle of people was dense; the conversations sounded agitated, and tension hung in the air. Usually, Arseniy avoided crowds, but today something pulled him in — maybe boredom, maybe intuition. Maybe he just wanted to stretch after a whole day at the desk. Perhaps someone needed help? He wasn’t a doctor, of course, but he could always give someone a ride if needed.
Squeezing through the curious onlookers, he froze. In the middle of the park, kneeling, someone was fiercely drawing with chalk on the asphalt. A young man in a worn jacket was creating an unfinished picture, but even now it stirred a strange inner tremor in Arseniy. Around them, the debates continued:
“What’s the point of this?”
“It looks beautiful!”
“Get lost, tramp!”
“Let him draw. Better than drinking and causing trouble.”
“Don’t bother him; he’s not bothering anyone!”
Arseniy felt a deep, almost forgotten longing awaken in his chest. The drawing seemed to strike a chord of memories: a two-story house with carved shutters, a crooked gate, an apple tree in the yard… Exactly like the one from his distant childhood. How could this stranger know about that place? No one else had seen their old house except himself and…
His heart clenched. Twenty years had passed since his younger brother disappeared. Since then, life had been split into “before” and “after.” But how was this possible? Why here and why now?
“Hey!” he stepped forward decisively. The artist didn’t react, continuing to work with chalk. The crowd stirred; someone was already pulling out a phone.
“That drawing… Where did you see it? It’s not made up, is it?”
Finally, the tramp stopped. He lifted his eyes but looked strangely — through Arseniy, as if he weren’t there.
“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “I don’t remember anything. Only this house is before my eyes. It haunts me. I keep drawing it to try to let go a little.”
Arseniy was about to dismiss the guy as crazy but noticed a familiar scar on his neck. The same one his brother had gotten many years ago when he fell off a bicycle and cut himself on a stone.
“That can’t be…” he whispered. “What’s your name?”
“He doesn’t have a name,” an older woman answered for him. “We call him Vanya the Artist. He’s been wandering here for a few months. We help him however we can. But he’s afraid of the police — as soon as he sees them, he runs away. Says they’ll lock him up, chain him. His fate seems hard.”
“I don’t want a chain! I won’t be caught!” the tramp stammered fearfully, trying to stand. But Arseniy firmly grabbed his hand.
“No one will take you anywhere. You’ll come with me. I’ll feed you, clothe you, give you a roof over your head. I’ll help you.”
The crowd buzzed again, whispering among themselves. Why did a rich man need a ragged man? Arseniy himself didn’t know the answer. He didn’t believe he had found his brother, but something inside would not let him leave this man alone. What if it wasn’t a coincidence?
“Don’t trust anyone! Don’t listen to anyone!” repeated the tramp, trembling with fear.
“I’ll help you figure out that house from your visions. Do you want to know the truth?”
The tramp froze, staring into Arseniy Valeryevich’s face. Something like trust flickered in his eyes — as if before him stood the very person who could ease the burden weighing inside.
“I want to… Will you really help? You won’t lie? You won’t chain me? If you do, I’ll run away, far away!”
“I’ll never chain you. I promise. And if I break my word — you can always come back to the park and draw there as much as you want. I’ll even buy you a whole box of chalk.”
The young man beamed with a broad smile and nodded like a child suddenly given a long-awaited toy.
Arseniy didn’t understand himself why he had taken it on. He decided not to tell anyone about the find — especially his mother. First, they needed to do a DNA test. Only then would he know for sure if he had really found his brother. So many years had passed. They had long come to terms with the thought that Oleg had died. The searchers said: if the river didn’t take him, the forest claimed him for itself. But now, looking at this man, Arseniy felt — this was no cruel joke of fate. This was his own brother.
The night robbers broke into their house had forever changed their lives. Arseniy tried to protect their mother, while Oleg, terrified, ran off toward the forest. He remembered running after him, shouting… but he was too late. After that, he swore to find his brother. Everyone searched — neighbors, police, volunteers. But all in vain. Over time, hope faded. Then Arseniy made another promise — to become strong, provide for the family, so no one would ever hurt them again. He worked tirelessly, built a career, made investments, step by step moving toward success. And now, twenty years later, a chance meeting turned everything inside out. He didn’t believe in fate, but today felt too significant to ignore.
The tramp went home with Arseniy. The housekeeper helped him take a shower and dress decently. The young man remained wary, as if ready to run away every second. He tried not to meet Arseniy’s gaze but felt less afraid near this man.
“Home! You said you’d take me home!” he reminded, sitting at the table and cautiously tasting the food.
“I will. But first, eat well, then we’ll go to the clinic. Doctors need to check you. You have many wounds and bruises.”
The young man didn’t trust easily, but Arseniy’s actions showed confidence, even care. He obeyed, almost intuitively perceiving him as an older brother. Arseniy grew more certain that he couldn’t be mistaken here. However, he decided to wait for the test results before drawing conclusions.
The doctors gave a harsh truth: after a serious blow to the head, irreversible changes had occurred in the young man’s body. He could be treated, but he would never be the same. His psyche remained at a child’s level — he understood much but did not fully realize it. Arseniy felt rage rising inside. Who had done this to his brother? Where were these people now? But years had passed, and finding the truth seemed almost impossible.
Taking a day off, Arseniy took Oleg to their hometown. He hadn’t been there for many years. The house where they grew up stood abandoned and half-ruined. But as soon as they entered the yard, Oleg came alive. He started searching for the bicycle and repeated that if he didn’t return it on time, he’d get scolded by his older brother.
“I stole the bicycle to run away… Nowhere to find it… Nowhere…”
These words became the final stone in the wall of doubts. Now Arseniy knew for sure — this was his brother. Tears welled up. His heart ached, but he understood — nothing could be changed. Only move forward. He decided not to tell their mother anything yet, waiting for the test results. But already then he promised himself: he would find the best clinics, the most effective treatments. If money could fix the situation even a little — he would pay any price.
“Don’t be mad at me. I don’t need the bicycle. The main thing is that you’re back,” he said, barely holding back emotion.
“You’re not a brother. A brother is small, and you’re an adult,” Oleg replied, shaking his head.
His heart clenched, but Arseniy knew — the main thing was that his brother was safe now. No one would hurt him anymore.
The DNA results confirmed their kinship. Arseniy thought long about how to tell their mother everything. But hiding it further was impossible. He tried to understand what happened during those years Oleg didn’t remember, but Oleg only muttered about some work where he had to dig. There were no specifics. They could turn the whole city upside down, but chances of truth were slim. Much more important was to care for Oleg’s health, surround him with attention and warmth.
When the mother saw her son, she fainted. Upon waking, she wept, holding him close, not wanting to let go. Oleg recognized her but never acknowledged Arseniy as his brother. Nevertheless, he whispered to her that he would never leave again.
Arseniy invested huge sums in treatment and gathered the best specialists. The first positive changes were noticeable: Oleg became more consciously aware of what was happening. He never recovered his memory but sometimes spoke phrases that helped Arseniy trace one of the underground gangs. People were kidnapped, forced to work in unbearable conditions, and the weakest were kept on chains. The criminals were caught and convicted, and the victims helped to return home.
That chance meeting in the park changed not only Arseniy’s life but many others’. Deep inside, the man believed that one day Oleg would come to himself. Sometimes glimpses of reason flickered in his brother’s eyes. Then he looked at Arseniy, smiled, and said in an almost adult voice:
“You’re not to blame, brother. Thank you for finding me.”
The path was long and difficult. Complete recovery might remain unattainable, but now Oleg was home. Safe. Arseniy kept his promise — he brought his brother back. And would never again allow him to disappear.