It’s been two days since I last ate. My stomach feels like it’s clawing at itself, every step heavier than the last. People pass me on the street without even looking. Some laugh. Some call me a thief before I even try to be one.

I stop when I see it—bright lights, the faint hum of air-conditioning, and the smell of bread that makes my knees weak. A 7/11.

Inside, everything looks too clean, too safe. I keep my head low, pretending to browse the shelves. My eyes land on her—a girl sitting by the window, laptop open, earphones in, her face blank as the glow of the screen reflects on her. There’s a small bag of cheese buns beside her, untouched.

My fingers shake as I reach out. Just one. Just this once. She won’t notice.

But the moment my hand brushes the plastic, her fingers close around my wrist—fast, firm, unflinching.

My breath catches. Her eyes lift from the laptop, and I freeze under that cold, unreadable stare.

“I—I wasn’t—please,” I stammer, my voice breaking as I try to pull away. “Please let me go…”