The Light in her night

Cynthia

I should have taken a cab.

I told myself that at least a dozen times as I turned onto the narrow side street.

The night air was wrong. Too still. The lamps gave off weak halos that left more darkness than light. My footsteps echoed too loudly against the pavement, like the street itself was warning me.

I hugged my bag closer, whispering, It's fine, Cynthia. Just another walk home. You're fine.

But my body didn't believe me.

A shuffle of movement behind me made me stop mid-step.

I turned. Nothing. Just the long stretch of road and an old trash bin tilted on its side.

I took a breath, forced my legs to move faster.

Then-

"Hey," a voice called out.

My pulse stuttered.

I didn't answer. I kept walking.

Another voice, sharper. "Don't be rude, sweetheart."

My grip on my bag tightened. My throat felt dry.

The sound of footsteps quickened behind me.

A hand clamped around my elbow.

I jerked back so hard it hurt. "Let go!"

The man's grin flashed under the lamp. Yellow teeth. A baseball cap pulled low. "Just a minute, pretty. We're friendly."

"Please, let me go," I whispered, my voice barely working.

A second man stepped from the shadows, taller, broader. "Don't make this difficult."

My heart raced so fast it felt like it might give out.

I tried to twist free. The first man's grip only tightened, dragging me a half-step back toward him.

"Please!" I shouted, but it cracked. Weak.

He chuckled. "Look at her shaking."

The other man moved closer. "Just relax, huh? We're not gonna hurt you... much."

The way he said much made my stomach flip.

I was going to scream, but then I heard it.

A voice. Calm. Low. Controlled.

"Let her go."

The two men stiffened and turned.

I craned my neck. That's when I saw him.

He stood just outside the nearest pool of light - tall, broad-shouldered, hands loose at his sides like he wasn't even worried. A dark jacket zipped halfway. Hood half-down. His stance radiated something I couldn't name.

The first man sneered. "Mind your business, pal."

The stranger didn't move. "I won't ask again."

The second man took a step forward. "Or what? You gonna call the cops?"

The stranger stepped into the light.

He didn't look angry. Just... sure. Like someone who had already decided how this would end.

"Walk away," he said.

For a second, it felt like time stretched. The first man's hand twitched on my elbow. I think he considered using me as a shield.

But the stranger moved.

Fast.

A single step, a grab, a twist-

The next thing I knew, the man who held me was on the pavement, gasping and clutching his wrist.

The taller one lunged forward, but froze when the stranger squared his shoulders and simply said, "Don't."

Something in his voice made my skin prickle. The second man backed up, cursing under his breath, then ran into the darkness.

I stumbled back, free at last. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

The stranger's eyes found mine. Dark, steady. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head fast. "N-no. I don't think so."

He glanced around, checking the street like he expected them to return. "Can you walk?"

"Yes." My voice was tiny.

"Where do you live?"

"Five minutes... that way." I pointed.

He nodded once. "I'll walk you."

I hesitated. I didn't know him. I didn't know anything about him. But my legs felt like they might fold under me if I said no.

I nodded.

We walked in silence at first. My heartbeat slowly settled but left a hollow echo in my chest.

"Thank you," I finally said.

"You don't have to," he said softly.

"I do. You didn't have to stop."

His eyes flicked toward me. "That's not true."

"You don't even know me."

"You were in trouble."

He said it like it was obvious. Like there wasn't any other choice in his mind.

We reached my gate. I fumbled with the latch, my hands still trembling.

When I finally got it open, I turned back.

"I don't know your name," I said quietly.

He paused a second. Then: "Raymond."

"Cynthia." My voice felt steadier now. "I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't have to," he said again.

I reached into my bag, pulling out a small card - my weekend café shift card. I held it out.

"In case you ever need..." I didn't even know how to finish.

He took it, glancing at my name scrawled on the back.

"Goodnight, Cynthia."

"Goodnight, Raymond."

I stepped inside, shut the gate, and leaned against it, exhaling hard.

When I turned, he was already gone.

---

I locked the door behind me and just stood there.

My back pressed against the wood as if I could hold out the whole world with one body. My breath came fast, ragged, sharp in the silence of the apartment.

I dropped my bag on the couch and hugged myself. My hands were still trembling.

You're home. You're safe.

But my body wouldn't believe it yet.

I rubbed my arm where he'd grabbed me. No bruises, no cuts - just the ghost of fingers digging in.

My phone buzzed on the table.

Sonya.

> You home yet?

I typed back with clumsy thumbs:

> Yeah.

> Everything okay?

I hesitated, then typed:

> Not really.

The typing dots danced, then disappeared. Seconds later, my phone rang.

I stared at it and let it ring. I couldn't talk yet.

I sank down on the couch, knees pulled to my chest. My eyes stung, but I wouldn't let the tears fall. Not yet.

The image of him - Raymond - flashed through my mind. Standing so calm, like nothing could touch him. Like I wasn't even a burden to rescue.

Why had I given him my card? What was I thinking?

Because he saved you, something in me whispered. Because you didn't want him to just... disappear.

I closed my eyes and finally let the tears come.

A soft knock at the door startled me so hard my pulse jumped again.

I froze. Not again. Please not again.

I tiptoed to the door and peeked through the peephole.

Sonya.

Relief almost knocked me off my feet.

I opened it fast.

"Hey," she said softly, eyes scanning my face immediately. "I knew something was wrong."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

She hugged me before I could argue.

That was it. The dam broke. The sob I'd been holding since the street tore out of me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered against her shoulder.

"Don't be. Breathe. Just breathe, Cyn."

She guided me to the couch, made me sit, then slipped into the kitchen and returned with two mugs of tea.

I wiped my face and stared at the steam.

"There were these men," I said. "They tried to-"

I couldn't finish.

Her eyes darkened. "Did they hurt you?"

"No. Someone stopped them."

Her expression softened, grateful and worried at once. "Who?"

"A man. Raymond. I don't even know him."

Sonya tilted her head. "Do you trust him?"

"I... don't know. But he wasn't like them."

She reached over and squeezed my hand. "You're safe now."

I nodded, but the word safe still felt foreign.

---

Raymond

The card lay on my table, its edges catching the dim light.

Her handwriting was neat but hesitant - like she'd second-guessed every curve.

I picked it up, turning it between my fingers, and stared at the photo beside it: my mother, younger, smiling in a way I hadn't seen in years.

I rubbed my eyes.

You shouldn't have gotten involved.

I told myself that. Repeated it like a chant. But when I heard her voice on that street... when I saw the way she froze like life had already drained out of her - something inside me refused to walk past.

I turned the card over again. Her number. Her name.

I reached for my phone, thumb hovering over the keypad.

Don't.

I set the phone down.

I wasn't that man anymore. I didn't want to be.

---

Cynthia

Sonya stayed until I fell asleep on the couch. I woke sometime after midnight, blanket draped over me, her note on the table:

> Call me when you wake up. I'm staying over tomorrow.

I held it to my chest and whispered into the quiet:

"Who are you, Raymond? And why do I feel like you stepped out of the dark for a reason I don't understand?"

Sleep took me again before I could answer myself.

---