Summer

A season I cherish for its perfect opportunity to climb mountains after toiling away with relentless dedication, like a horse that never tires. The anticipation fills me with excitement.

The streets buzz with activity, men in casual tees and shorts, while women don sleeveless tank tops paired with short skirts—a common summer tableau. Yet, amid the sea of summer attire, it's not unusual to encounter someone dressed more modestly.

I continue my walk toward the subway station, eyes fixed ahead, until I hear a commotion: a man berating a woman in a wheelchair.

"What's the matter with you, miss? Can't you see there's someone in front of you?" The man's voice rises, his finger jabbing accusingly at the woman.

She sits with her head bowed, her gaze averted, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

"Miss, are you listening to me?" His patience wears thin as he senses her silence. "Miss!" His hand rises, threateningly, as if to strike.

My eyes widen in shock. How dare he raise a hand to a woman in a wheelchair? I break into a run, my steps long and purposeful.