Rain falls hard, drenching me. I stop and pull back my hood, revealing my hair, letting it catch the downpour. I run my fingers through it as I look up, rain sliding down my face. I wonder how long I’ve walked this path, lived this moment—doing things without knowing my true purpose. Only wandering. Wondering. How long can I keep going, aimless, with no clear path?

I shake my head, irritated, and pull the hood back up. Then a sound cuts through my thoughts.

“HELP!”

“A woman’s cry,” I mutter, glancing toward the sound. I shake my head and continue walking.

But something stirs inside me, as if the cry echoed within, reaching something dormant. My steps falter. I pause. I look back, hesitate, then start walking—slowly at first, cautious. My pace quickens, and soon I’m running. I sprint up the muddy hill, vault the railing, and there she is: the voice, long black hair plastered to her face, mascara streaking in the rain—but fierce and defiant all the same.

“HEY!” I shout.

Both heads snap toward me. An older man with nasty teeth and a younger guy wearing a cap stared at me.

The older man spits. “Fuck off,” he snarls, dismissing me as he turns back to the woman.

She strikes him—scratching his face and driving her knee into his groin. He doubles over, clutching himself, but manages to grab her before she can slip away.

I ran for the younger man. We reach each other. I seize his arm, twisting until he cries out.

“AGHH!”

I shove him aside, then close in on the older one. As I grab him, he releases the woman and swings at me with a wild fist.

I catch it in my gloved hand, rain drumming around us.

“I said, ‘HEY,’ remember?” My voice is calm, steady. I look him dead in the eyes. “Leave.” I smile. Trying to deescalate.

The man sneers. “Are you fucking retarded, buddy?”

I tilt my head, not understanding. My eyes flick to the woman behind him. Then I see it—movement. His hand dives into his pocket.

Steel flashes in the rain.

“Knife!” the woman shouts.

I let go of his hand as he lunges, knife stabbing toward me. I dodge, my body moving almost automatically as he swings again.

“Stand still, pretty boy!” the man shouts. Then, seeing me glance behind him: “DON’T FUCKING STAND THERE—GRAB HIM!”

As if on cue, the younger man jumps at me from behind. I dodge, but he snags my hood, pulling it down. My hair falls over my face. I grab his arm, twirl him in front of me, and throw him at the knife-wielding man.

“We can stop this now, and no one has to get hurt,” I say, pushing the hair out of my eyes and letting the rain soak me again.

Both men catch their breath. As they do, I notice the girl rubbing her ankle. I walk slowly toward her, putting myself between her and them.

I speak without looking at her. “Are you good?”

Before she can respond:

“HMPH,” the man grunts, while his friend in the hat nudges him. Whispering, he says, “Look, I think we should call it quits, John.”

John pushes him away. “Fuck that. We’re gonna take this fucker down—and then have some fun with the broad afterward.”

They slowly walk toward me again. I put my hand behind my back, signaling for her to get up. I hear her moving behind me just as the younger one reaches me.

“Get to the car,” I say calmly, glancing behind me. She and I lock eyes for the briefest of moments. Even after our gaze breaks, my eyes linger on her, noticing the slight limp in her step.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see John grinning. The younger man lunges at me. I dodge his punch, pivot, and put strength behind my own, knocking him down.

John rushes toward the woman. Reacting fast, I jump between them and take a slash across my back. My clothing rips with a sharp sound. I brace against her as we fall, catching myself on the car, feeling blood and rain running down my back. I glance at John.

He charges at me again. I kick, creating space, and push the woman back. “It’ll be okay,” I say, reassuring her.

I turn to face John—and hear a slight gasp from behind me.

Ignoring her for the moment, annoyed for the first time, I rush John. He swings, and I grab his knife hand, crushing it. He screams in pain. I grab his jaw and slam his body to the ground, punching him again and again.

Suddenly, his friend approaches, trying to push me off John. I react, wrestling him to the ground, overpowering him. I wrap myself around him, pressing down. His muffled grunts and gasps fill my ears—“ugh! hmm! ahh!”—as I feel the struggle drain from him.

Then—grasping me from behind—a delicate hand. And a thundering: “STOP.”

Her voice cuts through like a command from above, and I glance behind me. My gaze crawls up her fingers to her wrist, forearm, and finally her face, until I lock eyes with her—truly seeing her this time, as if for the first.