When He Sees Me

"I'm not afraid. I can do this."

Sylvia was sweating, panicking like a legion of ants crawled up her skin while she lay stiff in bed. Only, it wasn't ants but a creeping sense of anxiety. Her heart pounded louder with each footstep of Sister Agnes echoing through the hallway.

'Can't she walk faster? It's not like she's old or something,' she grumbled in her thoughts. But Sylvia knew this was just her panic talking.

"She never checks inside the rooms," she mumbled to herself. "Just the hallway, then straight to bed."

She had spent the past few nights memorizing the nun's routine, staying up much later than the other girls in her dorm, carefully planning her escape. Even so, her senses spiked when the beam of Sister Agnes' flashlight swept beneath the door.

Sylvia held her breath, fingers tightening around the sack in her arms. Inside, it held everything she had in the world-a few clothes and half a loaf of stale bread. Not much, but enough to survive.

"Just a few more seconds," she whispered. "Just a few more seconds, and you'll be free."

The light slowly faded from the gap underneath the door, with the sound of the nun's footsteps growing distant. Then, finally, a door creaked shut, and silence settled over the orphanage. Sylvia exhaled shakily, forcing her body to move . . . It was now or never.

Her gaze darted to the window-the first obstacle in her escape. It was slightly open, letting in the cool night air, thick with the scent of damp earth and leaves. The other girls were all still sleeping deeply, their quiet breaths filling the dormitory-except for Rachel and Dorcas, who snored like the greedy pigs they were.

They alone would miss her. Without her, who else would they have to torment?

"No one here will miss me," she told herself quietly.

She slipped off her bed and crept toward the window, her bare feet making no sound on the cold wooden floor. The old hinges groaned softly as she pushed it wider. Sylvia froze. Waited. No one stirred.

'I can do this,' she thought, even as her chest tightened.

The orphanage hadn't been home for a long time-not since Sister Agnes doubled down on her strict rules after the board's last inspection. Warm meals had turned to watery soup, and the little kindness Sylvia once remembered had been replaced with cold stares and sharp words.

But the final straw had come just days ago.

Marilyn-her closest friend, the girl she had practically grown up with-was adopted. Just like that, gone. Sylvia had always known adoption was the goal, the dream every child was supposed to hope for. But Marilyn leaving had torn something inside her.

At first, she tried to pretend it didn't matter. But everything changed after that. Rachel and Dorcas, the two oldest girls in the orphanage, turned on her. They had always been cruel in passing, throwing sharp words her way, but now they had a new target-someone alone, someone too angry to bother making new friends.

It started small. Taking her blanket when she wasn't looking. Knocking over her bowl at breakfast and laughing when she had to clean up the mess. Then it got worse-whispers behind her back, lies to the nuns, sharp pinches and elbow jabs when no one was watching.

Sylvia reported them, but it only made things worse. The nuns barely paid attention, dismissing her complaints as childish bickering. And then Sister Agnes, the one person she had hoped would listen, scolded her instead.

"How do you expect to get adopted with such poor behavior?" the nun had said, shaking her head in disappointment.

Sylvia had stood there, fists clenched, biting back the words she wanted to scream. That was the moment she knew she wasn't going to wait around, hoping to be chosen by some stranger. She was going to leave. On her own terms.

Sylvia climbed onto the ledge, gripping the frame. The drop was far, and the ground below glistened with mud from the rain. Her knees wobbled, but she bit her lip and jumped.

The impact jarred her legs, sending a shock up her spine, but she didn't stop. She scrambled to her feet, the sack pressed to her chest, and ran. The gate was ahead, the iron bars rusted and bent just enough for her to squeeze through.

"Sylvia!"

Her name cut through the darkness. Sister Agnes!

She didn't look back. Her breathing was ragged as she pushed through the gap in the gate, the metal scraping her arms. The cold air stung her lungs, but she kept running, her bare feet slapping against the wet pavement.

Freedom.

~•~

Sylvia huddled under a crumbling brick wall, holding her sack tightly to her chest. The rain had stopped, but her clothes were soaked, clinging to her thin frame. Her stomach growled. The piece of bread she'd packed was long gone.

She had walked all night, hiding in alleys and under bridges. The city was bigger than she imagined, louder too. Every sound made her jump-the rumble of a passing car, the chatter of strangers, the occasional shout in the distance.

She was terrified. And yet, for the first time in her life, she wasn't trapped.

Sylvia rubbed her arms, shivering as the wind bit at her skin. Across the street, a vendor was setting up a small stall, arranging loaves of bread. The smell wafted toward her, making her stomach ache.

Her eyes darted around, scanning for anyone watching. Slowly, she inched closer, her gaze fixed on the vendor's hands as he placed a basket of rolls on the counter.

"Hey!"

Sylvia's heart jumped. She spun around, ready to run, but a boy about her age stepped out from the shadows. He was scrawny, his clothes too big for his small frame, but his dark eyes gleamed with mischief.

"You're terrible at stealing," he said, grinning.

Sylvia clenched her fists. "I wasn't-"

"Relax," he said, holding up his hands. "You look hungry. Follow me."

She hesitated. Her instincts screamed not to trust him, but her hunger won out. She followed him down a narrow alley, her steps cautious.

He stopped near a cart piled with vegetables. "Watch this," he whispered, slipping a potato from the pile when the vendor turned away.

Sylvia watched, wide-eyed, as he handed it to her. "Your turn."

She shook her head.

"Suit yourself." He tossed the potato in the air, catching it with a smirk. "You'll starve out here if you don't learn how to play the game."

Sylvia bit her lip, her pride warring with her hunger. Finally, she nodded.

"Good," the boy said. "I'm Danny, by the way."

That night, Sylvia sat in an abandoned alley, nibbling on the small stash of food Danny had helped her gather. She had no idea where she was or what tomorrow would bring, but she made a silent vow:

She would survive. No matter what it took.

Two years. That's how long Sylvia had spent learning how to survive in the slums of the city. At fourteen, she wasn't the terrified little girl who had escaped the orphanage. Life on the streets had toughened her. She knew which alleys were safe, which vendors were easy marks, and how to blend into the background when necessary.

That morning, Sylvia sat cross-legged on the curb near the busy marketplace. Her hair fell in tangled strands over her face, and her sweater, now too small, was ripped at the sleeves. Around her, the city roared with life-vendors calling out their wares, carts clattering on cobblestones, and distant conversations rising without end.

Her stomach growled, but she ignored it, keeping her focus on the crowd. It was the only way to survive-eyes open, ears sharp, always scanning.

"Are you hungry?"

Sylvia jumped, startled by the voice that broke through the chaos. A man crouched down in front of her. He wore a black cassock, a rosary tucked neatly into his belt. His kind face was framed by silver hair, and he held a leather-bound Bible in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

She eyed him warily, saying nothing.

The priest extended the bag toward her, the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread wafting out. "Go ahead," he said gently. "It's yours."

Sylvia's fingers hovered over the bag, her hunger tearing at her insides. But she stopped. Nothing on these streets came without a price.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you look like you need it." The priest smiled, his eyes warm with sincerity. "You don't have to be afraid. It's common practice for me to assist those in need in whatever way I can. So help me God."

Still cautious, she reached for the bag, snatching it quickly and pulling it into her lap. She tore off a chunk of bread, eating hungrily but keeping her eyes locked on the stranger.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Sylvia chewed slowly, unsure if she should answer. After a pause, she muttered, "Sylvia."

"Well, Sylvia," the priest said, his tone warm and patient, "you shouldn't be out here alone. This city can be cruel, especially for someone your age."

She swallowed hard, her instincts screaming at her to leave, but her curiosity held her still.

"Where are your parents?"

The question struck a nerve. Sylvia dropped her gaze to the ground. "Gone," she said flatly.

The priest's face softened with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. But listen, you don't have to stay out here. I could take you somewhere safe. Somewhere warm."

Sylvia's grip tightened on the bag. She didn't answer, but her body tensed.

The priest sighed, shifting his weight. That's when she heard it-a voice. But it wasn't coming from his lips.

°Poor child. I just want to help. Maybe give her some money and food . . . though Father Michael says I'm too trusting. What if this girl's trouble too? What if something goes wrong again?°

Sylvia froze. Then her eyes darted to the man's face.

"What did you say?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

The priest blinked. "I didn't say anything."

"No . . . you said Father Michael thinks you're too trusting," Sylvia pressed.

The man's brow furrowed. "How do you know that?"

Her heart raced. "You just told me," she insisted.

"I didn't," he replied, his voice low with confusion. But then his thoughts came again, unbidden and clear as a bell:

°What is she talking about? Is this girl possessed? How else could she know my thoughts?°

Sylvia flinched. She shook her head as if to clear it. This wasn't possible. Was she losing her mind?

The priest's face darkened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "Who are you, really?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. His thoughts followed closely behind:

°Lord, give me strength. This child is unnatural. Something foul must have taken hold of her.°

Sylvia gasped, the fear in his thoughts cutting deeper than his words. She stumbled back, pressing the paper bag to her chest.

"Thank you for the food," she muttered, her voice trembling.

"Wait-" the priest started, but Sylvia was already turning to leave.

His thoughts grew louder, more frantic:

°Is she a trick of the devil? Should I call someone? No . . . no. I need to pray for her soul. God, protect her . . . and me.°

The rosary at his belt clinked as he reached for it, his lips moving in silent prayer. Sylvia didn't wait to see what he would do. She bolted.

She ran all the way into a narrow alley, the shadows swallowing her whole. Her chest heaved as she pressed herself against the cold brick wall, the paper bag still gripped tightly in her hands.

"What's wrong with me?" she whispered.

Her ears rang with the priest's thoughts-clear, distinct, impossible to ignore. She hadn't heard his voice. She'd heard something deeper.

Her knees buckled, and she slid to the ground, trembling. After two years in the slums, she'd thought she understood the rules of the streets-trust no one, stay quiet, and keep moving. But now, a new rule began to form in her mind:

Stay away from people.

Sylvia sat in the darkness until her breathing slowed, but her thoughts raced on, denying her sleep. She didn't know what had just happened or why, but one thing was clear-she couldn't let it happen again. She felt fear in a way she'd never felt before. Not of the world around her, but of herself.

At daybreak, she sat on the edge of a crumbling sidewalk, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The memory of the man's voice-or whatever it was-played over and over in her mind. She hadn't told anyone about what happened. Who would she tell? Danny might have laughed it off or thought she was crazy, and she wasn't sure she could explain it to herself, let alone anyone else.

She stared at the crowd moving through the marketplace, her eyes scanning the faces of strangers.

What was it she'd heard? His thoughts? That didn't make sense.

"Thoughts aren't something you hear," she muttered to herself. But she had. She was sure of it.

A woman passed by with a baby crying in her arms, her face tired and strained. Sylvia closed her eyes, focusing on her.

And then it happened.

°If I could just get him to sleep for an hour, just one hour . . .°

Sylvia's eyes snapped open. It was there, faint but unmistakable, like a whisper she wasn't supposed to hear. Her chest tightened, and her stomach flipped in excitement.

It wasn't just that man.

She could hear people's thoughts.

Over the next few days, Sylvia tested herself.

She sat in busy streets, alleys, and parks, watching people go by, focusing on one person at a time. It didn't always work. Sometimes she heard nothing at all, just the usual noise of the world. But when she felt something-an emotional pull, even a faint one-she could hear them.

A vendor counting coins and worrying about making rent.

A child scared of losing their mother in the crowd.

A woman silently cursing her husband as they argued over vegetables.

Sylvia didn't understand why or how it worked, but she started to notice patterns. The stronger the feeling, the clearer the thoughts.

By the end of the week, Sylvia was starving again. The bread and scraps she'd collected were long gone, and her stomach growled as she wandered through the marketplace.

Vendors shouted about fresh fruit, salted fish, and roasted chestnuts. The smells made her dizzy with hunger, but she didn't have a single cent to her name.

Her eyes locked onto a stall piled with apples, the red skins shining in the sunlight. The vendor was a large man with a thick beard, his voice booming as he called out to customers.

Sylvia hovered nearby, pretending to examine the next stall over. Her fingers itched to grab one, but she didn't dare. Not yet.

She closed her eyes and focused on the vendor.

°Don't look away from the coins. Someone will try to short me again. Watch the coins.°

Sylvia smiled. She didn't need him to look away from the coins-just the apples.

She waited until a customer approached, a flustered woman digging through her purse for change. The vendor leaned forward, squinting at her money, his back turned just slightly.

Sylvia moved quickly, grabbing the smallest apple she could and slipping it under her shirt.

Her heart pounded as she walked away, her eyes darting around to see if anyone noticed. When she rounded the corner and found herself alone, she let out a shaky breath and pulled out the apple.

It wasn't much, but it was hers.

She sank to the ground and took a bite, the sweet juice running down her chin. For the first time in days, she smiled.

That night, Sylvia lay on her back in an abandoned lot, staring up at the stars. She still didn't understand her gift-if that's what it was-but it didn't scare her as much anymore. If anything, it made her fearless.

. . .

Months passed since she'd first used her gift to steal that apple. Since then, she'd learned how much easier life could be when she used her ability deliberately.

She wasn't just surviving anymore. She was winning.

Her first real scam had been accidental. It happened one morning when a kind-looking woman had stopped her outside the marketplace, asking if she was lost. Sylvia had been about to walk away when the woman's thoughts slipped into her mind.

°I can't afford another stray right now. Please don't ask me for money.°

So Sylvia didn't. She had smiled, blinked her wide eyes, and asked instead if the woman had any food to spare. If her hunch was right, that should be enough to compel the woman give her the very money she didn't ask for, no matter how little.

The woman sighed but handed over a sandwich from her lunch pack and a dollar bill. Sylvia had been stunned at how simple it was. She hadn't asked for much, just enough to make the woman feel sorry for her.

As Sylvia gnawed on the sandwich, she realized the power she held. People's thoughts weren't just random whispers-they were instructions.

Later that evening, she stood outside the same market, her eyes fixed on a man counting cash near his cart. Sylvia closed her eyes and focused.

°Got to be quick. Get the change back before the customer notices.°

She stepped forward, bumping into him just as he handed over the change. "Oh! I'm so sorry!"

The man barely glanced at her, too busy counting his cash again. Sylvia slipped a handful of coins from the counter into her pocket and scurried away.

No one noticed.

But it wasn't just stealing. Sylvia was learning how to manipulate people. A soft smile and the right words could coax a stranger into giving her their leftovers. A tear in her eye and a fake story could guilt someone into giving her more than just food. And all the while, their thoughts guided her.

°She looks harmless. Poor thing. Just a kid.°

She wasn't harmless. Not anymore.

Sylvia wasn't proud of what she did. But pride didn't fill her stomach or keep her warm at night.

One night, while hiding in an alley with a few coins and an energy bar, Sylvia overheard two women talking.

"Did you hear about the soul-bonding thing?" one of them said, her voice low.

"What, that weird love thing people are talking about?"

Sylvia's ears perked up. She leaned closer, keeping to the shadows.

"They're saying it's real. When two people are truly in love-like, soulmates-they can hear each other's thoughts. Feel each other's emotions."

The other woman laughed. "Sounds like nonsense to me."

Sylvia frowned. That didn't sound like nonsense. It sounded . . . familiar.

"Doesn't happen to everyone, though," the first woman continued. "Both people have to feel it. Real love, they say. And it takes time-years sometimes-for the bond to happen."

Later that night, Sylvia couldn't stop thinking about the conversation.

Could that be what her ability was?

She'd never heard anyone else talk about being able to read minds. And if soul-bonding was supposed to take time and love from both people, then what she had was different.

Hers didn't require love. It didn't need years. She didn't even need the other person to know she existed. All it took was an emotional pull-fear, pity, anger, desire-and she could hear them.

Sylvia hugged her knees to her chest, staring up at the stars. Whatever she had, it wasn't soul-bonding. It was something else entirely. Something that made her unique.

The next morning, Sylvia stepped into the marketplace with a new sense of confidence. She didn't know why she was different, but she wasn't going to waste it.

Her bare feet padded across the cobblestones as she scanned the crowd. A vendor glanced her way, frowning. Sylvia smiled back, her mind already reaching for his thoughts.

°Keep an eye on that one. She looks like trouble.°

Sylvia grinned. Trouble? She could live with that.