It was a little past 3 a.m. when I sank into the back seat of a taxi, exhausted after an endless day. The city was eerily silent, wrapped in that fragile calm before sunrise. The driver said little, but I caught his eyes flicking toward me in the mirror. Each glance sent a chill through me.
When we reached my building, I paid quickly and hurried inside. The elevator was out, so I began climbing to the eighth floor. Halfway up, I heard footsteps thundering behind me. Panic surged. “Please—take whatever you want!” I cried.
He stopped, panting. “Miss, wait! You dropped this!”
In his hand was my wallet. My knees weakened as relief replaced fear. He smiled softly. “Trouble?”
That night, I learned how easily fear distorts truth—and how unexpected kindness can find you, even at 3 a.m.
