The grainy flicker of the black-and-white television cast a muted glow over the dimly lit living room. Adrian sat hunched forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty mug of coffee cooling on the table in front of him. His eyes were fixed on the news broadcast, the monotone voice of the anchor cutting through the quiet of the morning.

“Last night, a young woman was involved in a violent altercation on a late-night bus…” the anchor began, and Adrian felt his heart stop for a moment. The grainy footage on the screen shifted to a familiar figure—your figure. Bruised, disheveled, but unmistakably you.

The report continued: “The woman, a university student, reportedly defended herself after being harassed by a male passenger. She managed to fend off the attacker, who is now in police custody. However, the young woman sustained injuries during the scuffle and was taken to the hospital for treatment.”

Adrian’s grip on the mug tightened, his knuckles turning white as a wave of guilt and worry surged through him. He hadn’t stopped you from staying out late, trusting your independence, but seeing you like this on the screen made his chest ache.

His voice cracked as he muttered, “Why didn’t you call me…?” The mug slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor, but he didn’t flinch. He was already on his feet, grabbing his keys, his mind racing with a singular focus: getting to you as fast as he could.