The bus hissed as it pulled away, taillights glowing red in the misty evening. She stood there on the corner, watching it disappear, shoulders sagging under the weight of the day—and now, the walk home.
Of all the nights to miss it.
She tightened the scarf around her neck, her breath visible in the chilled air. Streetlights cast long shadows on the sidewalk, their flickering glow not nearly enough to chase away the darkness that clung to this part of town after sunset.
Her phone buzzed once in her pocket before dying completely. Dead. Typical.
She walked fast, trying to ignore the gnawing unease curling in her gut. The streets were nearly empty. A few cars passed by without slowing. A shopkeeper across the road was locking up, eyes down, keys jingling.
Then she heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow at first. Then faster. Not hers.
She didn't look back—every horror movie she'd ever seen screamed don't—but her legs moved quicker, heart banging against her ribs.
"Hey," a voice called behind her. "Where you going, sweetheart?"
She didn't answer.
Two more pairs of footsteps joined the first.
She turned a corner, hoping to lose them, but they were there—closer now, surrounding her like a pack.
"Come on now," one of them said, stepping into her path. He was tall, wearing a hoodie pulled low, a greasy grin spreading across his face. "We just wanna talk."
Her mouth dried. She stepped back. One grabbed for her bag. Another brushed her shoulder, fingers lingering too long.
Then everything exploded.
A blur of movement shot in from the alley. A fist cracked against the guy's jaw—clean and brutal. Another hit the pavement with a grunt. The third tried to run, but didn't make it far before he was caught and slammed into a wall.
Silence returned, but it felt heavier now. Charged.
She stared at the man who had just taken them down like it was second nature.
He was tall, lean, in a black jacket, hood down. Dark hair messy like he'd run his hands through it one too many times. A cigarette dangled loosely from his lips before he flicked it to the ground.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice rough and low, like gravel soaked in whiskey.
"I... I think so," she said, heart still thudding.
"You shouldn't walk home alone."
It wasn't a scold—it was a fact. Like he'd seen this story too many times before.
He turned to leave.
"Wait," she called after him. "Thank you"
He paused, glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes met hers—deep, unreadable, dangerous.
"youre welcome."
Then he disappeared into the night, leaving behind a swirl of smoke, silence, and the sharp sting of adrenaline in her veins.
She stood there for a long moment, the echo of her own breath the only sound.
She didn't know it yet—not really.
But her life had just changed.
And she was already falling.
---
---
YOU'RE WELCOME
She whispered the word to herself as she turned the key in her apartment door. It felt unreal, the way the world could tilt on its axis in a matter of minutes. One moment she was dreading the cold walk home, and the next… she was fighting to breathe under the weight of adrenaline and fear—and something else. Curiosity.
Who was he?
She set her bag down gently, as if noise might bring the chaos back. The apartment was small—studio size—but it was hers. Clean lines, secondhand furniture, a candle burning on the windowsill. It smelled like vanilla and lavender, like safety.
But she didn't feel safe.
Not anymore.
She found herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection. Her face was pale, mascara smudged slightly beneath her eyes. Her fingers trembled as she splashed cold water over her skin.
Why had he been there?
What kind of person walks into a fight like that with no hesitation?
She didn't know anything about him—she didn't even get his name. And the way he moved like he'd done that before. Too smoothly. Too clean.
He didn't act like someone afraid of consequences.
He didn't act like someone with rules.
She wrapped herself in her robe and sat on the edge of her bed, phone charging now at her bedside. She opened the notes app and typed a single line before locking the screen again:
. Tall. Rough voice. Bruised knuckles. Saved me.
And still, she couldn't sleep.
Because deep down, something told her—
That wouldn't be the last time she saw him.
--