At noon that day, I drove back to my house after the performance. Just as I entered the living room, I heard a gentle sound coming from the bedroom upstairs—it was the sound of my favorite violin.
I dashed upstairs. Sure enough, as expected, a boy of about 12 years old was petting my violin. The boy had messy hair and a thin face, his oversized coat seemingly filled with something. At first glance, I found a new pair of shoes missing. It seemed that he was surely a thief.
Then, I saw his eyes full of fear and despair. My anger was immediately replaced by a smile, I asked, "Are you Mr. Ram's nephew, Michael? I'm his housekeeper. Two days ago, I heard his nephew living in the countryside will come. It must be you. You're really like him!"
On hearing my words, the boy