chapter 8 A Moment
931 Words
A Moment
She never finished what she was saying.
Because in the very next moment—
she moved.
The fingers locked around his wrist suddenly changed direction.
In an instant, his hand was under her control.
He hadn't expected it.
He had never imagined that beneath her composed expression lay such precise, instinctive resistance.
He raised his other hand.
To strike her.
But—
she stopped that too.
Now both his hands were under her control.
For the first time, the mockery faded from his face.
“Leave me!”
he said.
She looked straight into his eyes.
“Isn't that exactly what I told you?”
Her voice did not rise.
There was no scream of anger.
But within that calmness was a boundary.
She released him.
He stepped back.
She turned away and began walking towards her seat, as though the incident had already ended.
But—
he caught her hand again.
A sudden pull.
She turned back.
And in the next instant—
cold metal touched the side of her neck.
A knife.
The sounds inside the coach seemed to freeze.
Her eyes did not go to the blade.
They went to his.
The same mocking expression was there again.
But in her eyes—
there was no fear.
Only calculation.
One moment.
Then—
she moved.
This was no longer mere self-defence.
A language her body had remembered for years began to speak through her movements.
It was as though her instincts knew the direction of every move before it came.
A turn.
A block.
A swift counter.
He moved towards her again.
She stepped aside.
His attack met only empty air.
She moved again.
Precise.
Fast.
There wasn't a trace of confusion in her eyes.
The first flicker of fear had disappeared.
In its place—
training.
The passengers inside the coach held their breath.
Someone whispered,
“She knows martial arts...”
Another voice followed in astonishment—
“Beauty with martial arts...”
But she heard none of it.
Her world had narrowed to just two things—
herself,
and the danger standing before her.
And then—
someone else stepped forward from behind her.
A knife in his hand.
She didn't see him.
But—
he did.
The young man who had been sitting across from her.
He didn't need time to think.
He rose.
And in the next instant—
he was in front of her.
He shielded her with his own body.
Her face came to rest against his chest.
For one moment—
every sound seemed to fall away.
His arms were around her.
She stood completely still.
Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Slowly, she lifted her face.
He looked down at her.
And once again—
green met brown.
Sunlight streaming through the window fell softly across their eyes.
Her green eyes seemed deeper somehow.
His brown eyes held a quiet concern.
That moment had no name.
No words.
And yet—
it was a moment neither of them would forget.
Then, slowly, they moved apart.
Reality returned.
By then, the confrontation was over.
The passengers and railway staff had managed to restrain the attackers and handed them over to the railway authorities.
Gradually, silence returned to the coach.
She looked at him.
And that was when she noticed it—
a small tear near the shoulder at the back of his shirt.
Beneath it, a thin trace of red.
Her eyes stopped there.
“Hey...”
He turned.
“You're bleeding.”
He tried to look over his shoulder.
“It's okay.”
“Leave it.”
“But the blood...”
He gave a small smile.
“I'm fine.”
She said nothing.
She turned abruptly and picked up a first-aid box from the nearby seat.
Opening it, she walked towards him.
“Let me see.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He tried to say something.
“Really... it's okay.”
She didn't answer.
She reached out her hand.
But—
her fingers stopped.
She tried again.
They trembled slightly.
The same hands that had not trembled when a blade had been held near her neck.
The same hands that had never hesitated during the confrontation.
Now—
they trembled only in front of his wound.
She looked down at her own hands in quiet disbelief.
Why was she afraid?
She didn't know.
She reached out again.
Then pulled her hand back.
He looked at her, unable to understand.
And for the first time, he saw something else in her eyes.
Not the courage of a fighter.
But fear—
for him.
She slowly closed the first-aid box.
Took a step back.
The wound on his shoulder was only a small thing to him.
But inside her—
it had opened another door.
This happened because of me.
If he hadn't stepped in front of her...
this would never have happened to him.
A thought began to take shape inside her.
Whenever he is near me...
will something happen to him?
She moved away from him again.
One step.
Then another.
He stood watching her.
She couldn't meet his eyes.
Because another fear had begun to grow inside her—
What if, whenever I enter someone's life, even my shadow becomes a source of pain to them?
She didn't want that.
Never.
The small wound on his shoulder did not hurt him much.
But inside her—
it was not a small wound at all.
It was the first mark of guilt
to leave its imprint upon her heart.
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