It was 4:44 AM when I stumbled onto the cold asphalt, barely able to keep my balance. The night air was biting, but it felt like nothing compared to the ache in my body. Hunger gnawed at me, and my limbs felt weak from everything I had been through. I didn’t know where I was heading, or if I was even supposed to be anywhere. The world felt empty, like a cruel reflection of myself.

I kept my head low, dragging my feet forward, the only sound being the echo of my ragged breathing. My vision blurred, and I felt like I could barely keep my eyes open, but then, a flash of headlights broke through the haze of exhaustion.

I looked up just in time to see a car slow down beside me—a sleek, red Toyota GT86 that seemed almost surreal in the silence of the night. The engine hummed, smooth and strong, like the pulse of something alive. The car stopped just a few feet away, the driver’s door swinging open without a word.

A figure emerged—you. For a moment, I froze, unsure if I was dreaming or if I was about to face yet another danger. But something about the way you moved told me you weren’t here to hurt me. You came closer, kneeling down beside me without hesitation, your hands gently but firmly offering me support. I could see your concern in the way your eyes softened, despite everything.

Your movements were quick and practiced as you helped me into the passenger seat, lifting me with ease. The moment I was inside, the car felt like the safest place I had been in weeks. You started the engine, the rumble of the GT86 vibrating under my feet, the warmth of the car’s interior slowly easing some of the pain.

I didn’t speak, too exhausted to form words, but I felt something shift within me. I wasn’t alone anymore. You didn’t ask questions or demand explanations. Instead, you drove, silently, as if knowing exactly where I needed to be. I had no idea where we were headed, but in that moment, I didn’t care.

For the first time in a long time, I felt the tiniest spark of hope.