The city didn't pause for reunions.
Footsteps slapped against pavement. Engines growled. Somewhere nearby, a delivery truck reversed with sharp beeps that cut through the air. The smell of oil and warm bread hung low, clinging to the street like it always did.
Voila stood frozen.
Her shoulders were tight, pulled up as if bracing for a blow that hadn't come yet. The empty paper bag dangled from her right hand, torn and greasy, fingers curled so hard the paper crumpled.
Hezron stood a few steps away.
Not too close. Not far enough to walk away unnoticed.
The distance felt deliberate.
She looked at his shoes first.
Black. Clean. Leather, polished to the point where the sunlight bounced off them. Shoes like that didn't belong where she stood. Shoes like that belonged behind doors that closed properly.
Her chest tightened.
"Don't—" she muttered suddenly, eyes darting to the side. "Don't push her. Please. Don't jump."
Her voice came out fast, uneven, like she was chasing her own breath.
Hezron stiffened.
"What?" he said quietly.
She shook her head once, sharp and quick, as if shaking the words away. Her gaze snapped back to him, unfocused for a second before settling.
"I wasn't talking to you."
"I didn't think you were," he said.
Another car passed too close, wind brushing her legs. She flinched hard, stepping back. The sole of her foot scraped the ground, and this time she hissed.
"Leave her alone," she whispered, pressing her lips together. "Just leave her alone."
Hezron moved without thinking.
Just one step forward.
She reacted instantly.
"Don't touch me!"
Her voice cracked, loud enough that a woman across the street glanced over, then quickly looked away.
He stopped.
"I wasn't going to," he said, hands visible at his sides. "You're bleeding."
She looked down again, slower this time.
A thin cut ran along the side of her left foot. Dust clung to the blood, turning it dark. She stared at it like it belonged to someone else.
"Oh," she said flatly.
She crouched, balancing on the balls of her feet. The movement was practised, familiar. With her left hand, she tore a strip from the hem of her already fraying shirt. With her right, she wrapped it around the cut, fingers shaking as she tied a loose knot.
He watched all of it.
"You do that a lot?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Feet get tired of being stepped on."
That answer didn't quite match the question.
He didn't push it.
Instead, he said her name.
"Voila."
Her hands stilled.
Slowly, she looked up at him.
"You remember," she said, not a question.
"I do."
She let out a breath that sounded halfway to a laugh. "Funny. Most people forget me while I'm still standing there."
He crouched down then, careful, keeping space between them. From this angle, the street stretched behind her — cracked pavement, a wall layered with old posters peeling at the edges.
"You disappeared," he said. "One day you were there. The next—"
"—I wasn't," she finished quickly. "That's usually how it goes."
"You never came back to school."
Her jaw tightened.
"They said you ran away," he continued. "People talked."
She scoffed. "People always talk. They talked when I was there too."
He hesitated, then said, "Your parents… your brother. They were looking for you."
Her head snapped up.
"What?"
"They asked around," he said. "For months. Your brother came to school once. He looked—"
"Stop," she said sharply.
Her hands clenched in her lap.
"Don't talk about them."
"They're still looking," he added gently. "At least, they were the last I heard."
Her breathing sped up.
She stood suddenly, backing away from him until her shoulders hit the wall. Her eyes darted down the street, then back to his face.
"Please," she said, the word slipping out raw and unguarded. "Don't tell them you saw me."
He blinked. "I wasn't planning to—"
"Promise," she said, stepping closer now, panic sharp in her eyes. She grabbed his wrist with her left hand, fingers digging into his skin. Her right hand hovered in the air, unsure, then clutched at his sleeve.
"Please. You can't. You can't tell anyone."
Her grip was tight. Too tight.
"Voila," he said, steady but firm. "Let go."
She didn't.
"Why?" he asked. "Why can't I tell them?"
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
She stared at him, breathing hard, eyes shining with something close to anger.
"It's none of your business," she snapped.
He frowned. "It became my business when I saw you again."
She laughed, loud and brittle. "You knew me for what during school? A few months? You didn't even sit next to me."
"I knew enough."
"You knew rumours," she shot back. "You knew whispers and hallways and people filling in gaps with whatever made them feel better."
She released his wrist abruptly, stepping back as if burned.
"You don't know anything," she said.
He flexed his hand once, then said, "Then tell me."
She shook her head.
"No."
Silence settled between them, heavy and awkward.
A group of teenagers passed, laughing too loud, glancing at them before moving on. Voila's shoulders hunched again, her body folding inward.
"Where have you been living?" Hezron asked finally.
She laughed again, quieter this time.
"Here."
He followed her gaze.
The street. The wall. The pavement beneath their feet.
"You live on the street?"
"I sleep when I can," she said. "I eat when I can." She paused, then added, "Sometimes I don't."
"That's not living."
She tilted her head, studying him. "Says who?"
"You can't keep doing this," he said.
She suddenly pressed her hands to her temples.
"Don't shout," she muttered. "She hates it when people shout."
"I'm not shouting."
"She doesn't know that," Voila said, voice trembling. "She never knows."
"Who?" he asked carefully.
She dropped her hands and looked at him, eyes wild.
"See?" she said. "You hear that and you think I'm mad."
"I didn't say that."
"I did," she snapped. "I'm mad. I live on the street. I talk to people who aren't there. I steal food. If that's not mad, what is?"
Her voice rose with each word.
People began to stare.
"Leave her alone," she whispered suddenly, shrinking back against the wall. "Please don't push her. Please."
Hezron straightened up.
Enough.
"Voila," he said firmly. "Look at me."
She didn't.
He took a step closer. Slowly.
She flinched but didn't move away.
"You are not mad," he said. "Don't say that."
She laughed weakly. "You don't even know what I do."
"Then let me help you."
"No."
The word came instantly.
"I can get you a place," he said. "Food. Somewhere safe."
"No," she repeated, louder now.
"Voila—"
"I said no!" Her voice broke. "You don't get to fix me. You don't get to decide I need saving."
He took a breath.
"Then I will tell your family I saw you."
Her head snapped up.
"What?"
"I don't want to," he said evenly. "But I won't watch you live like this."
"You promised," she said, voice shaking.
"I promised nothing."
She stared at him, betrayal flashing across her face.
"You're cruel," she whispered.
"I'm desperate," he replied. "And so are you."
She shook her head, tears finally spilling.
"I can't go back," she said. "Please don't make me."
"I'm not sending you back," he said. "I'm offering you forward."
Silence.
Wind brushed past them.
Her shoulders sagged.
"What if I say no?" she asked quietly.
"Then I would look for your family and tell them where you are and also, I won't lie for you. It doesn't matter if you try to run or hide at the next street , you would still be found and you definitely have no money to even buy a bottle of water how much more a bus ticket."
She looked at the ground.
Then at his hand.
Slowly, she reached out — this time with her right hand — and took it.
Her grip was light. Fragile.
"Okay, just… don't tell anyone," she whispered. "No one."
He squeezed her hand once.
"Sure I won't, I promise, now let me help you in return", he said.
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
And somewhere deep beneath the noise of the city, something shifted.