The night had fallen, and the traffic on the road had reduced to a trickle. Every few minutes a car or a scooter zipped passed me, but apart from that, the road was desolate. I sat at the bus stop, leaning against the cold backrest; my legs folded and my arms wrapped around my knees.
The restlessness and despair that had kept me gripped in its clutches had ebbed, and I finally felt peace at myself. This was me, Ayame Hills; homeless, abandoned, and maybe born with a cursed fate.
“Here you are…” Alistair’s voice sounded to my left, drawing my attention. “Why weren’t you picking up my calls?”
“You called me?” I said, fishing out my phone from my pocket. There were about twenty missed calls from him. Looking at him with a sheepish expression, I apologised, “I am so sorry, Alistair. My
