By then, she had become familiar.

Not close.
Not constant.

Just present enough that I no longer wondered
if I would see her again.

A few days had passed since the show.
Life had returned to its usual rhythm.

That evening, the street felt ordinary.

The crossing was nearly empty.

Not deserted.
Just sparse.

A car waited on one side.
Another slowed far down the road.
The signal hung above us, patient and dull.

I stepped forward when the light changed.

Someone else moved beside me.

I didn’t look.

People walk at their own pace.
Some stop.
Some hesitate.

I kept going.

The road was clear.
The distance short.

Halfway across, I sensed movement behind me—
not urgent,
not unusual.

Someone slowing.

I assumed the man beside me had paused,
the way older people often do.

That was normal.

I didn’t turn.

Near the end of the crossing,
a figure rushed past me.

Fast.

A woman moving against the flow,
her steps sharp, determined.

I noticed her only because she crossed so close,
close enough to cut my path for a moment.

Then she was gone.

I didn’t wonder about it.

People hurry sometimes.
Especially at crossings.

I stepped onto the curb.

The signal blinked.

I looked ahead.

The street on this side was calm.

Then I turned back.

Something was wrong.

The man was no longer upright.

He was down near the edge of the road,
his body folded inward,
his bag lying open beside him.

The woman who had rushed past me
was kneeling beside him now.

Aviva.

Her posture was tight, focused.
Her hands were on his shoulders.

Another person appeared from the opposite side.
Then another.

Phones lifted.
A hand waved toward the road.

I stood there,
trying to place the missing moment.

The signal changed again.

Green.

I crossed back.

This time, slower.

By the time I reached them,
more hands were already there.

Someone supported the man’s head.
Someone else crouched near his legs.

A vehicle arrived.

Bright lights.
Open doors.

The man was lifted carefully,
carried away from the road,
placed inside.

The doors closed.

The vehicle moved off.

As quickly as it had formed,
the moment loosened.

People drifted back.
Phones lowered.
Attention dissolved.

The crossing returned to being a crossing.

Aviva stayed.

She bent forward,
hands on her knees,
her breathing visible in the rise and fall of her shoulders.

I didn’t know what to do.

So I lifted my hand.

A small wave.

A gesture meant to say hello,
or are you okay,
or simply I’m here.

Her head snapped up.

She looked at me.

Her expression shifted sharply.

Her mouth began moving.

Fast.

Hard.

Her body straightened,
anger pulling her frame tight.

She stepped toward me.

Her lips kept forming words
that refused to settle into meaning.

I watched her face carefully,
trying to understand
what I had missed.

She was close now.

Her eyes locked onto mine.

I stood still,
silent,
watching her mouth move,

trying to understand
what she was saying to me.

To be continued…

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