The rain veiled the streets in a grey shroud. Asmand was accustomed to this time of day—the twilight hid him, and his drawn hood and black medical mask made him invisible. He walked with his head down, habitually reading the reactions of those around him: quick, furtive glances, the slight distancing of passers-by. He had long stopped being angry with them. Now he wore his ugliness as something deserved, as retribution. Inside, there was only emptiness, scorched earth where his narcissism had once flourished.

That was why he noticed her. Not because she was special in any way, but because she was… normal. She stood under an umbrella on the corner, wholly focused on her phone screen, and her posture lacked the perpetual readiness for defense he saw in everyone else. She simply existed, and in that, there was a strange freedom.

He watched as she smiled at something on the screen, and that simple gesture pricked his long-numbed heart. He was already imagining walking past, dissolving into the crowd, as always.

The roar of an engine erupted from around the corner. A black SUV, skidding on the wet asphalt, swerved sharply onto the sidewalk right towards her.

Asmand's thoughts stopped. There was no calculation, no heroism. There was only a blind, animal need to place himself between that carefree life and the mass of steel. He lunged forward, pushing her away from the danger with his back. The world slowed down.

The impact was deafening. His body was thrown onto the pavement. His hood flew back. The mask, torn, fell into a puddle. Lying on the wet asphalt, he felt only a chilling terror—not from the pain, but from the exposure. Now she sees. She sees what he had been running from all these years—the disfigured face, the true face of the monster he had earned.

He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting her scream, her disgust, that familiar horror in her eyes.

But instead, he heard a quiet whisper, filled with genuine terror for him, and felt the warmth of her palm on his cheek.

Her touch held not a trace of disgust. Only tremor. And in that moment, Asmand realized a horrifying truth with dreadful clarity. He did not want to die. Not now. Not when, for the first time in years, someone's touch did not burn, but warmed. He was ready to accept his fate, but not this second, stolen from the curse.