Each day hundreds of people passed the bear. Some smiled and took a picture, others ignored it.

The bear had sat there for a year, waiting for its girl. She had loved it dearly and closely since she was a young girl—but then she’d grown up and left it on the streets of Los Angeles, all alone. It wasn’t even her neighborhood, but rather some random boulevard she’d spontaneously chosen on her long drive to her new school.

“Sorry, but college doesn’t approve of kid toys,” she’d mumbled as she dropped the bear on the sidewalk. He had flopped to his side and as she got into her car, his girl glanced over at him for a short moment. That’s when something had flickered in her eyes—a memory, maybe—and she paused before opening the car door again and bending over at her bear’s side. She’d straightened him up, leaning him against the brick wall and resting his head on his stomach.

“There.” But as a car drove down the street past her, it seemed to jolt her back into the present and she shook her head, the memory in her eyes fading away. “Bye.” She seemed to realize that she was talking to an inanimate bear and rolled her eyes, slamming the door as she climbed into her car.

Two and a half months passed before anyone touched the bear. Small smiles had been cast in its direction, but it wasn’t until a little girl that the bear finally felt seen again.

“Mommy, look! It’s a teddy bear!” A little girl wearing striped leggings, rainbow boots and monkey hoodie stopped in front of the bear and bent down, hands on her knees. She peered into the eyes of the bear, tilting her head.

“He looks hot.”

“Sweetheart, we can’t stop. We have to meet Daddy for lunch.” The mother’s pained expression told the bear that they weren’t just meeting for a meal.

“Can I give him my water?” The child held up her plastic water bottle to her mother. Her mother bit her lip, hesitating. It was hot outside. They still had a few blocks to walk. And that water bottle had cost two dollars.

“No, babe, I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

“Please? He looks so tired.”

“I…” The mother stared at the bear and then at her daughter’s pleading gaze. The girl’s innocent smile won her over. “Okay. Here. Give him mine.” She handed the young girl her Starbucks cup full of cold water. Her face lit up and she eagerly took it, placing it in the bear’s lap on the ground.

Eva, the bear read on the side of the cup.

“He looks happier,” remarked the daughter. “Let’s go see Daddy.” She grabbed her mother’s hand and pulled her along the sidewalk and her mother, after casting a glance at the bear, smiled and followed after her.

Almost a year had passed when a man, boy, and teenage girl passed the bear. The Starbucks cup had long lost its icy water and the bear’s coloring had faded slightly, but he still caught the teenage girl’s eye. She walked over, the strings from her jeans swinging slightly as she stopped in front of the bear.

“Wait, one sec.”

“What are you doing?” asked the boy. “I want dinner!”

“Just wait,” she repeated, pulling out her phone. She knelt down and took a few pictures—carefully looking at the cup and the bear’s bent-low head.

“What is your story?” she asked quietly.

“Come on,” groaned her brother. He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the bear, just as the young girl had tugged her mother down the sidewalk—and just like his girl, just like the daughter, she walked away.