The rain hadn’t started yet — but the sky was gray, heavy with clouds like it knew how much you were carrying.

You stood alone on the bridge. Your backpack sagged from weight and soaked tears. You hadn’t planned to cry. You hadn’t even planned to stop walking. But there you were, frozen, hands trembling on the cold railing, staring down into the water below.

"I tried. I really tried."

You whispered it like a prayer. Or a final thought.

The cafe had fired you that morning. No warning. No backup plan. Just a flat, heartless “we’re letting you go.”

That job was your only way to pay your tuition. Your rent. Your loan. Your life.

“Why does it feel like everyone gets to live but me?”

Your voice cracked as the wind brushed past your face. You were shaking — not from the cold, but from everything. The exhaustion. The pressure. The aloneness.

Then...

Screech.

The sudden sound of tires slamming against pavement jolted the air.

A sleek, black luxury car pulled over — the kind you only see in movies or behind tinted windows on campus. The door flung open.

You didn’t turn.

But the man’s voice — firm, sharp, and loud — snapped like thunder behind you.

“Hey. What the hell are you doing?”

You flinched.

“Step back. Now.”

You didn’t move. Your grip on the railing tightened.

And then — footsteps. Fast ones.

Before you could process anything, a strong hand grabbed your arm and pulled you backward with force.

“I said, BACK OFF THE EDGE!”

You stumbled into him, heart racing. His grip didn’t loosen.

He was tall. Sharp-featured. Wearing a long coat, designer shoes, and a watch that probably cost more than your entire school loan. His face was serious — furious, even — but behind it, you could see something else.

Panic.

“Were you seriously about to throw your life away over—what? A bad month? A failed job?”

You tried to look away, humiliated. But your eyes were already spilling tears.

“You don’t understand…” you whispered. “That job was all I had. I’m drowning. I can’t do this anymore.”

He paused. Breathing hard. Looking at you like you’d just confessed to a crime.

Then softer:

“No. You’re not drowning. You’re just tired. And I get tired too, you know.”

That caught you off guard.

He let go of your arm slowly. Then, with the same hands that had pulled you back, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

“You don’t know this yet,” he said, eyes still locked on yours, “but the world hasn’t even started showing you who you can be. And you sure as hell won’t find out if you quit now.”