She ran.
Her breath burned her chest, each gasp scraping her throat raw as her shoes slapped against the empty road. The night air bit into her skin, sharp and unforgiving, but she did not slow down.
She could not.
The bus station lights flickered ahead like a fragile promise, and fear pushed her faster. Behind her, the iron gates of the house loomed in the dark, tall and silent, watching her flee.
It had never been home.
Her fingers clenched around the strap of her worn bag as her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else.
'Do not look back. Do not stop.'
A light snapped on behind her.
May's heart lurched violently.
She broke into a sprint, lungs screaming, feet barely touching the ground as panic surged through her veins. She did not dare turn around.
The station came into view, nearly empty, silence heavy and expectant. A single bus waited there, engine humming low, doors still open.
The last bus.
Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled forward.
"Wait," she gasped.
The driver glanced at her, startled, then nodded once. She climbed aboard, hands shaking, and pressed crumpled notes into his palm.
The doors hissed shut, sealing her choice behind her.
The bus pulled away.
Only then did May collapse into the seat by the window. Her body trembled uncontrollably as the night stretched on outside.
'I am gone,' she thought. 'I really left.'
The road unwound endlessly, carrying her farther from everything she knew. Fear curled in her stomach, but beneath it lived something unfamiliar.
Hope.
She did not know where she was going. She only knew she could not stay.
The bus lights dimmed, and exhaustion finally claimed her. As sleep pulled her under, memories pressed at the edges of her mind, sharp and painful. But she pushed them away.
Tonight was not for remembering.
Tonight was for surviving.
Outside, the town shrank into darkness. May slept, unaware that the moment she stepped onto that bus, her life had already begun to change.
The engine's steady vibration lulled her deeper, each mile loosening the tight knot in her chest.
She woke with a quiet sob trapped in her throat and pressed her sleeve to her mouth. No one noticed.
The bus was mostly empty now, dotted with sleeping strangers and humming silence. She curled closer to the window, watching her reflection blur and fade.
'You are doing this,' she told herself. 'You chose this.'
Hours passed in fragments, measured only by the ache in her limbs and the shifting light beyond the glass. She wondered briefly what morning would look like in a place that had never hurt her.
The thought felt dangerous, so she tucked it away.
Her bag rested on her lap, the only proof that she still owned anything at all. She checked it twice, fingers brushing fabric and paper, grounding herself in the small reality of it.
The road signs changed, names unfamiliar, distances stretching forward like a challenge.
'Whatever waits for me there cannot be worse than what I left behind.'
For the first time since she bolted through the gate, her breathing finally evened out. Exhaustion settled over her like a blanket, heavy but strangely comforting.
The bus carried her onward, away from the night, toward a dawn she had not planned for but would face anyway.
She did not know what she would say when someone finally asked her questions. Names, reasons, explanations all felt too heavy to carry yet.
Tonight she allowed herself to be nameless, directionless, just a girl moving forward.
The rhythm of the road became a promise she clung to. If she kept going, if she did not look back, something had to change.
She closed her eyes again, surrendering to sleep as the sky slowly lightened. Whatever tomorrow held, she would meet it on her feet.
The first hint of morning crept along the horizon, pale and uncertain. The bus windows caught the light, turning it into soft streaks of gold.
She stirred, half awake, lulled by the motion and warmth. Somewhere ahead waited a city she had only ever seen in pictures.
She did not imagine riches or miracles.
She imagined space to breathe.
'That is enough for now.'
The bus rolled on, steady and patient, indifferent to the quiet war she had fought to be here. She shifted in her seat, adjusting the strap of her bag, grounding herself again.
No one stopped her.
No one called her name.
And for the first time, that felt like freedom.
The road carried her closer to a future she had not chosen yet but would have to shape.
May slept as the city drew nearer.