The stray

The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the pavement as Alex hurried down the empty street. Their hood was pulled tight over their head, hands shoved deep in their pockets. It was one of those nights when the city felt hollow, like a forgotten place lost in time. Work had dragged on longer than expected—overtime that wouldn’t show up on their paycheck. The weight of exhaustion pressed against them, making each step feel heavier. The last thing they needed was another problem. Then they saw it—a small shadow huddled beneath a flickering streetlamp. A dog. At first, Alex thought it was just another piece of trash swept against the curb by the wind. But then it moved, lifting its head slightly, eyes glinting in the dim light. It wasn’t just any dog. It was starving. Ribs pushed against its thin, rain-soaked fur. Its legs were tucked beneath its body, as if trying to conserve what little warmth it had left. But it was the eyes that stopped Alex in their tracks. Golden. Wary. Waiting. Alex knew that look. It was the look of someone who had been abandoned too many times. The look of someone who had learned not to hope, because hope only led to disappointment. Alex had seen that look in the mirror before. They sighed, dragging a hand down their face. “You’re really not making this easy, buddy.” The dog shivered violently but didn’t move away as Alex crouched down, extending a hand. The rain dripped from Alex’s sleeve as they waited, patient. Slowly, the dog sniffed at their fingers before pressing its cold nose against them. Something inside Alex cracked. “You win,” they muttered, shrugging off their jacket. They wrapped the thin fabric around the dog’s frail body before scooping it up. It tensed, but exhaustion had drained whatever fight it had left. As Alex walked home, they felt the soft, fragile heartbeat against their chest, fast but steady. They weren’t alone tonight. And neither was the dog.