chapter 3 part 2
1399 Words
The Dragon and the Fox
—Takuya's Point of View—
She wasn’t supposed to matter.
When I first saw her, she was this quiet little shadow curled in on herself on the edge of the playground. Head down, knees drawn to her chest, fingers fiddling with a tattered ribbon tied to her wrist. Most kids were running wild—scraped knees, loud voices, stupid games that didn’t matter. But not her.
She just sat there like she didn’t belong in the world.
Even then, there was something wrong about how still she was. Like her silence was rehearsed. Like she had learned too young that noise invited pain.
I remember thinking—that girl’s gonna get swallowed whole if she keeps living like that.
I didn’t know her name. Didn’t care. I was ten and angry and mean and the only thing I ever looked out for was my little brother Reiji and the cash I had to make running errands for my father’s men.
But then some older kids started circling her.
Four of them. All bigger, dumber, louder. They called her names—“quiet freak,” “rabbit girl,” “mutt.” That last one made something shift in my stomach.
She didn’t flinch. Not once.
Didn’t cry. Didn’t even blink.
They yanked the ribbon from her wrist and she just stared at them. One of the boys shoved her, hard enough to knock her back into the dirt.
Still nothing.
That should’ve been the end of it. None of it was my business. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t screaming. But something in me itched. Not in a soft way. In a dangerous way.
I told myself to walk away.
Instead, I walked over.I didn’t speak when I stepped into their circle. Just walked right up, shoved the biggest one hard in the chest, and watched him stumble back like a clown who’d forgotten who he was messing with.
“Did she ask you to touch her?” I asked, voice low, controlled.
The other boys hesitated. They weren’t used to being challenged. Not at this school. Not by me.
“Takuya, man, chill—she’s just a freak. Doesn’t even talk.”
I turned to him, smile razor-thin. “You think that gives you permission to put your hands on her?”
He blinked. Swallowed. “No…”
“Then run.”
They did. Fast.
I didn’t say a word after that. I turned to look at her—and for the first time, she looked at me.
Big brown eyes, still too calm. Too quiet. Like she hadn’t been scared. Like it wasn’t new.
She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t say anything.
She just stared at me, then reached down into the dirt and picked up her ribbon.
She tied it back around her wrist with careful fingers.
I wanted to ask her name, but I didn’t.
I left.
That was the first time.
I saw her again a few weeks later.
After school. Same spot. Same silence.
This time, I sat next to her. Not close. Just enough for her to know I wasn’t there to bother her.
She didn’t flinch.
I waited five whole minutes before I spoke.
“What’s with the ribbon?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. Just kept playing with the ends of it like she couldn’t stop.
I leaned back on my hands, staring up at the sky.
“People think silence means weak. But sometimes it just means smart.”
Her hands paused.
Still no words. But her eyes flicked toward me, just for a second.
And that was enough.
I didn’t know back then that her silence was survival.
I didn’t know she went home to screams. Or that her father was the kind of man who didn’t need to hit you to make you feel broken.
I didn’t know her mother ignored it all.
But I learned.
Piece by piece.
Over years.
Not from her. From what she didn’t say.
From bruises she never explained. From the way she flinched when anyone raised their voice. From how she always sat near doors. Watched exits.
Myiah never gave anything away on purpose.
She was a locked room with one window—and I was the i***t who kept pressing my hand to the glass.
The older we got, the more protective I became. Quietly. At a distance.
I fought boys who tried to touch her. Threatened teachers who got too close. Paid her tormentors to disappear. And when she disappeared one day—gone without warning for weeks—I hunted down the address her family had moved to and stood outside the apartment for hours.
I didn’t knock.
I just watched her bedroom window.
She never knew I was there.
Not then.
We weren’t friends.
Not in the way people think.
She barely spoke to me. But she didn’t run from me either. And when I sat next to her in silence, she didn’t leave.
That was enough.
Until one night—two years ago.
The night that changed everything.
Takuya’s POV
It was raining that night. The kind of cold, punishing rain that eats through your jacket and seeps into your bones.
I was on my way back from a meeting with one of my father’s associates. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth—I'd split my lip on some guy’s knuckles after mouthing off. My fists still stung. I was pissed, and tired, and wired like always.
Then I saw her.
Walking down the street in that too-thin sweater, soaking wet.
Alone.
No umbrella. No bag. Just her. And that damn ribbon still tied around her wrist like it was the only thing holding her together.
She didn’t see me at first. She was shivering, her arms wrapped around herself like armor. I slowed the car, pulled up beside her, rolled the window down.
“Myiah.”
She stopped walking, but didn’t turn.
I killed the engine. Got out. Didn’t care about the rain.
She finally looked over, and I’ll never forget what I saw.
Her lip was split. There was a bruise blooming under her eye. And worst of all—she didn’t even try to hide it.
She just looked at me like this is normal.
Like pain was something she wore every day.
I walked up to her slow. Careful. Like I was approaching a wounded animal.
She flinched when I raised my hand—but I didn’t touch her.
I let it hover near her jaw, fingers curling into a loose fist instead.
“What happened?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
I tried again. “Was it him?”
Still nothing.
I felt heat rise in my chest. Rage that tasted metallic.
“I’ll kill him,” I said. I meant it. “You know I will.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t,” she whispered. It was the first word I’d heard from her in weeks.
I stepped closer, voice low. “Why not?”
Her eyes met mine. So tired. So hollow.
“Because he’ll kill me first.”
I took her home that night.
Not to her house. To mine.
I didn’t ask for permission.
I pulled her into the car and drove through red lights to get her away from whatever hell she was living in.
I didn’t care if it made things worse. I couldn’t leave her in the street bleeding and alone.
Not her.
Never her.
She stayed the night at my place. Reiji was out with our cousin, so it was just the two of us. I gave her dry clothes. A hoodie. Sweatpants. She looked so small in them. Like a ghost trying to stay hidden.
She didn’t eat. Didn’t talk. She just curled up on the couch, her ribbon-wrapped wrist tucked under her chin, and stared at the TV even though it wasn’t on.
I stayed up all night.
I didn’t sleep.
I sat across from her, watching her chest rise and fall just to make sure she was still breathing.
Something broke in me that night.
Something I didn’t fix.
Something I didn’t want to fix.
From that night on, I made a vow.
No one touches her.
No one breaks her.
Not again.
If I had to burn the world down to keep her safe, I’d light the match myself.
- Writer
