Nights are easier when I am alone.
The city feels more honest then. Fewer faces. Fewer expectations. I sat on the curb under a broken streetlight, the concrete cold beneath me, a cheap bottle resting loosely in my hand. The street was quiet, but not empty. Somewhere nearby, a food cart was still open, oil crackling softly, the smell of fried dough and spice floating through the air. This corner had become familiar over time. Not safe. Just familiar.
I drank slowly, not because I enjoyed it, but because it gave my hands something to do. Alcohol does not erase memories. It only dulls the edges, makes them quieter for a while. My thoughts drifted without direction—faces, voices, moments that refused to stay buried.
That was when I felt a small presence beside me.
I did not look immediately. I already knew who it was.
A boy, no more than eight years old, stood there with his hands tucked into the pockets of his oversized jacket. His eyes were bright, curious, unafraid in a way only children can be. He looked at the bottle first, then at me.
"Why are you drinking?" he asked, his voice clear and direct.
I turned my head slightly to look at him. Daniel. The kid from the next building. He visited this street more than he should, always wandering too close to places adults avoided. He smiled at me like I belonged here, like I was part of his small world.
I had no answer for him.
I looked away instead.
Silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable, just unanswered. Daniel sat down beside me without asking, his legs dangling off the curb. He leaned closer, studying my face the way kids do when they are trying to understand something complicated.
Before I could tell him to go home, I noticed movement at the end of the street.
Laughter.
Familiar voices.
My stomach tightened before my mind fully caught up.
They were older now. Broader. Louder. But I recognised them instantly. Faces from a past I had tried to leave behind. My high school classmates. The ones who had turned classrooms into battlegrounds. The ones who thought intelligence was something to crush, not respect.
They saw me too.
One of them pointed, a grin spreading across his face as they walked closer.
"Isn't that Andrew?"
Another laughed.
I stood up instinctively and reached for Daniel's hand, my grip firm but gentle. My only thought was to get him away. We turned slightly, trying to move past them without making it a scene.
I almost succeeded.
A hand landed on my shoulder.
Not friendly.
Heavy.
A voice followed, mocking and loud.
"So what happened?" the man said. "The top student from back then. Are you unemployed now?"
The words did not hit the way they once might have. I felt nothing. Just cold awareness.
I turned slowly, meeting his eyes. My expression stayed calm, empty even. When I spoke, my voice was low, controlled, stripped of emotion.
"Move your hand."
They laughed. The sound echoed too loudly in the narrow street.
The punch came without warning.
Pain exploded across my face as my head snapped to the side. The bottle slipped from my hand and shattered against the pavement. I did not fall. I barely staggered. Another punch followed, then another.
The street became noise and movement.
I pushed Daniel behind me instinctively, pulling him close, pressing his small body against my chest. I wrapped one arm around him, turning my back to shield him. Fists landed hard against my ribs, my shoulders, my back. I felt bone meet flesh, felt breath leave my lungs, felt the sharp taste of blood fill my mouth.
I did not fight back properly. Not yet. My priority was simple.
Protect the child.
Then a voice cut through the chaos.
Clear. Calm. Female.
"If you touch him one more time, I'm calling the police."
They froze.
I felt the pressure ease slightly as they turned.
The woman stood a few steps away, her posture steady, phone raised in her hand. She was wearing a doctor's coat, the fabric catching the streetlight. Her voice did not shake.
"I've already called them," she added, showing the screen. "They're on their way."
For a moment, no one moved. Then panic replaced arrogance. They cursed under their breath, backing away, their bravado collapsing under the threat of consequence. Within seconds, they were gone, disappearing into the darkness they had come from.
The street fell quiet again.
I loosened my grip on Daniel slowly. My body burned, every breath sharp and uneven.
The woman approached us then, her steps measured. She crouched slightly in front of Daniel first, her voice softening.
"Are you hurt?"
Daniel shook his head quickly.
Then she looked at me.
Up close, I noticed details I hadn't before. Tired eyes. Calm hands. Someone used to emergencies.
She guided us toward the nearby food cart, pulling out two plastic chairs and motioning for us to sit. I did, mostly because my legs were starting to feel unsteady.
"I can treat you," she said simply.
I shook my head.
"I don't need it."
The food vendor glanced over, barely interested, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"He gets into fights all the time," the man said casually. "This is nothing for him."
I said nothing.
The woman looked at me again, her lips curving slightly, not amused but determined.
"I'm treating you anyway," she said.
She moved closer, opening her medical bag. When she cleaned the blood from the corner of my mouth, her fingers brushed my skin lightly. I felt her breath then—warm, steady, closer than necessary. She paused for just a fraction of a second, like she had noticed my breathing too.
Her hands moved down to my knuckles, wiping away the dried blood. Her touch was firm but careful. When she cleaned my arm, her fingers wrapped around my bicep, and I felt the brief tension in her grip.
She understood.
She looked at me differently after that.
"You work out?" she asked casually.
I did not answer. I turned my head away, staring at the street instead.
Daniel, however, smiled proudly.
"Yes," he said. "He goes to the gym."
She continued cleaning in silence after that, her movements efficient, unhurried. When she finished, she stepped back slightly.
I stood up, my body protesting but stable.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
I reached for Daniel's hand.
"Let's go."
The streetlight flickered overhead as we walked away, the night swallowing us once more.