A familiar Stranger
1083 Words
Sam woke to sunlight stabbing through the thin curtains, the sound of birds chirping far too cheerfully for her mood.
Her notebook lay open on the floor, pen still resting on the page. She had scribbled until exhaustion had pulled her into a restless sleep. Panic set in when she realized the time. Fifteen minutes late. The bus had already come and gone.
She grabbed her bag and ran, feet pounding the sidewalk, the wind whipping strands of hair into her face. Her ankle protested sharply as she strained it on the uneven pavement. Pain shot up her leg, but she gritted her teeth and kept going. She didn’t have money for a taxi, so the public bus was her only option.
By the time she reached school, her ankle throbbed, her bag swung heavily on her shoulder, and she was exhausted. The day dragged on in a blur of classes, notes, and assignments. By the time school ended, she was ready to collapse.
She headed to the bus stop, only to realize that, for some reason, the buses weren’t running that afternoon. Her stomach sank. She hadn’t carried extra money. She didn’t have another way home. The walk back was slow. Every step made her ankle scream. Frustration and fatigue weighed heavily on her.
A car slowed beside her. Sleek. Unfamiliar. Clean, polished. A hand waved from the window.
“Hey… do you need help?” the voice asked, calm, noticing her struggle.
“I can manage,” Sam said firmly, not even looking at him. Her pride flared. She didn’t want him—or anyone—to see her as weak.
“Why do you always refuse help when you clearly don’t have a way out of your problems?” he asked, calm but insistent.
Sam’s shoulders stiffened. “I can help myself. Just go your way,” she said, her voice edged with stubbornness.
He tilted his head, studying her carefully. “Fine. Your choice.”
She limped on, counting each painful step, ankle screaming with each movement. Thirty seconds. Forty. Fifty. She wouldn’t give in. Not yet.
The car stopped a few steps ahead, engine off. The door opened. He stepped out, calm and grounded.
“You know,” he said gently, “even if you don’t want my help… you can at least let me help your leg. You don’t have to hurt yourself for the sake of pride.”
Sam paused, fists tightening around her bag strap. Pride and stubbornness warred with exhaustion and pain. She wanted to refuse. She wanted to prove she could manage alone.
But something in the calm way he stood, the faint patience in his eyes, made her hesitate. Not weakness. Not surrender. Just… acceptance.
Reluctantly, she nodded, allowing him to step closer.
“Hop in,” he said quietly.
The interior smelled faintly of leather and citrus. Sam slid in carefully, clutching her bag, still defensive but slightly relieved.
He glanced at her. “You don’t look fine. That leg… it hurts, doesn’t it?”
“A little,” she admitted reluctantly. Silence stretched.
“You know… why does it feel like I keep seeing you?” she asked quietly.
He shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. Maybe you just notice things more than you think.”
She frowned, but didn’t respond.
Minutes passed. Shadows stretched across the streets. Silence settled comfortably between them.
“By the way… what happened to your leg?” he asked after a while.
“I missed the bus,” she muttered. “Tried to chase it… sprained my ankle.”
“You follow the public bus?” he asked, surprise in his voice.
“Yes. Why? You have a problem with people who follow the bus?” she snapped, then softened slightly.
“No! I… didn’t mean it like that. Sorry,” he said quickly.
The ride continued quietly. Finally, the car slowed at a familiar junction.
“Wait,” he said softly. “You’re still limping. Why don’t I just take you all the way home?”
“No! No, no, no, no!” she shouted, panic rising. Her treehouse wasn’t a normal house — she couldn’t let him see it.
He raised his hands calmly. “Okay… okay. But at least let me help you get home without hurting that leg further.”
Her stubbornness held for a moment. Then, with a small sigh, she relented. Not because she couldn’t manage — but because she trusted, just enough, that accepting help didn’t make her weak.
The car stopped in front of a less noticeable part of her street. Sam carefully stepped out, wincing slightly.
“I didn’t even get your name,” he said, leaning slightly on the door.
“Sam,” she replied quietly, keeping her gaze down.
“Well… I’m Kelvin,” he said, faint smile tugging at his lips.
Sam nodded once, curtly, and quickly climbed the ladder to her treehouse, careful not to let him see her little sanctuary. She disappeared inside.
Kelvin watched her go for a moment, calm and patient, then returned to his car and drove off.
Inside the treehouse, Sam set her bag down and exhaled slowly. Her ankle still throbbed, but her mind spun. The cafeteria, the ride, Kelvin’s calm persistence, the faint smile. Why did his presence feel familiar, like she’d felt it before? Obviously not one of recent times. But one that maybe dates back to a year ago or even more. The time frame wasn't certain but the feeling was definitely certain.
She gently freshened up and began documenting her day cos for some reasons? It gave her inner peace.
He said is name was "Kelvin"...that's nice
And just like that, she found herself fantasizing a total stranger.
Or was he? she had met him almost twice to know his name.
And as far as she could recall, that's an improvement in her anti-social record.
For some reasons this total "stranger" made communication seem not so bad and somehow he has changed; though its just a little, her perspective about humans in general.
A total "stranger". There was this calm and unsure reassurance that he would mean more than a stranger to her. The mere thought broke her.
As far as fragraments of her memory could trail her, things that started off on this path never seemed to end well. NEVER
It seemed more dangerous than promising.
But then again..fate would take its course.
Who knows, they might cross paths again.
- Writer
