Streetlight dreams
1512 Words
The city at night was a different kind of beast—louder, colder, yet somehow more alive than the world Ava had left behind. She sat under the flickering orange glow of a streetlight, her damp backpack clutched to her chest, legs tucked close to keep in the warmth. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the pavement was still wet, and the wind carried that smell of asphalt and loneliness that never quite left the city after dark.
The bus stop was empty except for her. The glass panels around it were smeared with grime and old posters for concerts that had long passed. She watched each car that went by, headlights streaking across her face, and wondered if any of them noticed her.
Probably not.
The world didn’t stop for runaway girls.
She was sixteen, alone, and terrified—but she’d made herself a promise:
She would never go back.
The Parkers’ voices haunted her—their disappointment, their control, the way Mrs. Parker used to grip her shoulder too hard and call it “love.” But here, beneath the humming streetlight, Ava had silence. For the first time in years, she could breathe.
Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since morning. She reached into her bag and found the last piece of bread she’d taken from the kitchen before leaving. It was crushed, but it was food. She ate slowly, forcing herself to chew despite the lump in her throat.
When she finished, she leaned her head back against the glass, eyes half-closed. Somewhere nearby, a siren wailed and a dog barked.
She tried to imagine what her life would be like tomorrow. Or next week. Would she survive? Would she find a job? Would she even still be in Westbridge by then?
Her eyelids grew heavy. The streetlight flickered.
And that’s how she fell asleep—curled up on the cold metal bench, clutching her backpack like it was the last piece of herself she had left.
---
“Hey. Hey! Wake up.”
Ava jolted upright, heart hammering. A girl stood in front of her, no older than sixteen, holding a cup of steaming coffee and wearing a denim jacket with patches of band logos and a rip across the sleeve. Her eyes were sharp and assessing, her lips pressed into a line like she didn’t trust easily.
“You can’t sleep here,” the girl said, glancing around. “Cops will drive by soon. You’ll get picked up.”
Ava blinked, still half-asleep. “I… I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
The girl sighed and dropped the tough act just a little. “Figures.” She sat down beside her, offering the coffee. “Here. It’s cold.”
Ava hesitated but took it, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. “Thanks.”
“I’m Chloe,” the girl said, watching her from the corner of her eye. “You?”
“Ava.”
“Nice name. You look like an Ava.”
There was something about the way Chloe said it—teasing but gentle—that made Ava relax a little.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping coffee and watching the empty street.
“So,” Chloe said eventually, leaning back. “What’s your story? You don’t look like the kind that ends up at a bus stop at two in the morning.”
Ava gave a weak laugh. “I guess I’m not. I was… adopted. It was good at first. Then it wasn’t. They—” She stopped herself, staring into the coffee cup. “They treated me like I didn’t matter anymore.”
Chloe didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she nudged Ava’s shoulder. “Guess we both ran from something.”
“You too?”
“Yeah.” Chloe’s eyes darkened. “I used to live in a… group. My parents called it a church, but it was a cult. They controlled everything. What we wore, what we said, even when we could eat. I ran away last year.”
Ava turned to her, stunned. “That’s awful.”
Chloe shrugged, though her jaw tightened. “Yeah, well. I’d rather starve out here than live in a lie.”
That sentence sat between them like a mirror. Because it was exactly how Ava felt.
They didn’t talk much after that. They didn’t need to. Sometimes, silence says everything.
---
The next morning, Chloe led Ava to a shelter run by a kind old woman named Martha. The place was cramped but warm, filled with mismatched blankets and the smell of instant coffee. Martha gave them food, new clothes, and a list of nearby places hiring part-timers.
Within a week, Ava and Chloe were working at a small family-owned restaurant downtown. Chloe washed dishes; Ava waited tables. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid just enough to keep them fed.
They rented a tiny shared room behind the restaurant—barely big enough for two beds and a small desk—but to Ava, it felt like paradise.
At night, they’d lie awake whispering about dreams and what they wanted to become.
“I want to sing,” Chloe confessed one night, eyes glinting under the dim light. “Like, on stage. With lights and fans and everything.”
“You’d be amazing,” Ava said.
Chloe smirked. “You’re just saying that.”
“No. I mean it.”
“And you?”
Ava hesitated. “I used to love games. I was good at them. But that feels like another life.”
Chloe turned on her side to face her. “Then make it part of this one.”
Ava smiled faintly. “You sound like a movie character.”
“Yeah, well. Someone has to say the cool lines.”
They both laughed softly, their voices blending into the hum of the night.
---
A few weeks later, Chloe barged into their room holding a phone. “Okay, I’ve decided. You’re going to make a TikTok.”
“What?” Ava blinked, halfway through folding laundry.
“You heard me. You’re funny, you’re pretty, and you can actually play games. You’ll blow up.”
“I don’t even have a camera.”
Chloe grinned and tossed her the phone. “You do now.”
Ava stared at it. “What would I even post?”
“Anything,” Chloe said, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Start with your story. Or gaming clips. Or both. People love real stuff.”
That night, they filmed her first video in their little room. Ava sat by the window, the streetlight casting a golden halo around her face. She talked softly to the camera about starting over, about how games once made her feel alive. Her voice shook, but Chloe cheered her on between takes.
When they uploaded it, they didn’t expect much. But by the next morning, it had five hundred likes.
Then a thousand.
Then five thousand.
Ava stared at the screen, eyes wide. “People actually watched it.”
“Told you,” Chloe said, trying to sound smug but smiling like a proud older sister.
Except she wasn’t older.
Ava found that out a week later, when they were filling out forms for their restaurant job.
“Wait,” Ava said, squinting at the paper. “You were born in March? That means I’m older than you.”
Chloe froze mid-bite of her sandwich. “What? No way.”
“Way.” Ava smirked. “So I guess I’m the big sister now.”
Chloe groaned dramatically. “Don’t ruin this for me, Ava.”
They laughed until their sides hurt.
---
By the time Ava’s third t****k went semi-viral—a clip of her reacting to a funny gaming fail—their coworkers were teasing her about being “famous.” People in the comments loved her soft humor and quiet confidence. She started gaining followers, and Chloe was always the first to celebrate each milestone.
“Ten thousand!” Chloe cheered one night, jumping onto Ava’s bed. “My bestie’s a star!”
Ava covered her face, laughing. “Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”
“You deserve this.”
Ava looked up then, and for a second, their laughter faded into something quieter, more charged. Chloe’s grin softened. Her hand lingered near Ava’s cheek.
“Seriously,” Chloe said. “You’re amazing, Ava.”
Before Ava could reply, Chloe leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t long. But it was real—warm and trembling, like the world had just paused for a moment to breathe with them.
When Chloe pulled back, her cheeks were pink. “Sorry. I just—”
Ava shook her head, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t be.”
Outside their window, the streetlight flickered again. The same one that had watched Ava cry weeks ago now glowed over two girls who had found something brighter than fear—something like hope.
And maybe, just maybe, the beginning of something more.
- Writer
