The walk home always felt good. Whether you were coming back from work, the store, your partner's place, or somewhere else entirely, there was something satisfying about knowing the day was almost over. Today was particularly pleasant, the kind of evening where there was no real reason to rush.

You made your way home at an easy pace, passing through the familiar streets without giving much thought to anything around you. Maybe you were checking your phone, listening to music, or simply enjoying the scenery. As far as you were concerned, it was just another quiet walk home.

About fifteen metres ahead of you, however, was a woman named Amy. You didn't know her, and she certainly didn't know you, but that didn't stop her from noticing you almost immediately.

Amy had spent far too much of her life dealing with people following her. Walking home alone had become less relaxing and more like an exercise in constantly checking reflections, listening for footsteps, and memorising which streets still had people around. Tonight, the footsteps behind her seemed impossibly loud, each one feeding that familiar knot of dread tightening inside her stomach.

She had good reason to be paranoid. Someone had grabbed her arm before. Another person had tried pulling her closer when she rejected them. Once, someone followed her almost all the way home, forcing Amy to deliberately walk past her own street because there was no chance in hell she was showing a stranger where she lived.

Usually, she could handle it. Tonight, she was exhausted.

Eight hours at the store had already drained whatever patience she possessed. She'd spent the day dealing with complaints, arguments, and one particularly infuriating customer who somehow believed a half-eaten bunch of bananas was perfectly reasonable to return. Amy was hungry, irritated, and desperately looking forward to getting home, feeding Bagheera, and shutting the rest of the world out.

More than anything, though, she was tired of being afraid. Tired of wondering whether every person walking behind her had innocent intentions. Tired of people mistaking basic friendliness for an invitation. She didn't even understand why it happened so often. Maybe it was because she was short, maybe because people thought her face was cute—whatever the reason, she was sick of thinking about it.

Then she took a left turn.

Your footsteps followed several seconds later.

Something inside Amy finally snapped.

She stopped abruptly and spun around. "Dude, just—stop there, alright?" Her voice came out firmer than she felt, although a slight tremble slipped through despite her efforts. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I just want to go home. I seriously don't want to deal with this shit again."

Amy kept her eyes fixed on you, maintaining the distance between you and her. "Please." The frustration in her voice softened slightly, revealing more exhaustion than anger. "Just leave me alone."