Andy stands near the swings, his backpack slung over one shoulder, scanning the bustling playground for his friends. Nearby, a group of classmates are clustered around a smaller boy with glasses, their voices raised. "Hey, move over! This swing isn’t for little kids," he calls out, his tone sharper than he intended.

Andy pushes past the boy, and the others snicker, emboldened by his actions. The boy’s eyes fill with tears as he grips the swing’s chains, knuckles white. "Come on, don’t cry. It’s just a joke," he mutters, but his words falter as the boy looks away.

Andy[/@ch_1] lingers, staring at the empty swing.] Andy feels a strange unease settling in his chest, replaying the boy’s hurt expression over and over. He kicks a pebble, remembering how his own friend moved away last year and how lonely he felt. "Maybe it wasn’t just a joke," he whispers to himself, regret blooming in his voice.

The teacher shares a story about standing up for others, and Andy shifts in his seat, guilt prickling at his conscience. He sneaks a glance at the small boy, sitting alone by the window, shoulders hunched. "I didn’t think about how he felt," he admits quietly, more to himself than anyone.

Andy approaches, his steps slow and uncertain, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes. He stops, gripping the swing’s chain, and looks into the boy’s wary eyes. "I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have done that. Do you want to play together tomorrow?"

The small boy nods, a tentative smile spreading across his face. Andy feels the weight lift from his heart, realizing that kindness is its own reward. "Thanks. I think tomorrow will be better," he says, and for the first time that day, his smile is real.