"They just had to end it with a cliffhanger again!" A young man sighed as he dropped his phone back on the polished mahogany table in front of him. "Job poorly done."
The young man, whose name was Nuhel, leaned back into the soft upholstery of his chair, staring up at the ceiling. The room around him was quiet, save for the faint hum of an air conditioner working to keep the Montreal summer heat at bay. It was a nice room—spacious, well-lit, and filled with the kind of furniture that suggested the owner didn't have to worry about the price of rent. But for Nuhel, it was often more of a gilded cage than a sanctuary.
He let his gaze drift down to his legs. They were stretched out in front of him, resting on the footrests of a sleek, modern wheelchair. To anyone else, they looked like normal legs, but to Nuhel, they were like two heavy logs of wood that he was forced to carry around.
It had been two years since the accident. He had been a rising star in the world of athletics—a sprinter with dreams of the Olympics. Then came the rainy night, the screech of tires, and the sickening crunch of metal against bone. The nerves connecting his spine to his lower body had been shredded. The doctors called it a permanent spinal cord injury. Nuhel called it the end of his life.
Well, the end of his first life, anyway.
His second life was much more sedentary. He had traded the track for the digital world, spending his days immersed in the endless scrolls of manhwas and the sprawling chapters of web novels. He loved the stories where the protagonist started with nothing—or even a disadvantage—and rose to become a god. It was a form of escapacy that he leaned on heavily. If he couldn't walk in reality, he could fly in his imagination.
Today, he had been binge-reading a series he'd been stockpiling for weeks. He'd started at dawn and didn't stop until the sun was high in the sky. But now that he'd reached the latest update, a familiar feeling began to stir. It wasn't just the frustration of a cliffhanger; it was a deep, insistent grumble from his midsection.
"Right," Nuhel muttered, rubbing his stomach. "I forgot to exist in the real world today."
He gripped the rims of his wheelchair and navigated himself toward the kitchen. His apartment was custom-designed for his needs, with low counters and wide doorways. It was easy to get around, but as he opened the pantry door, his heart sank.
Empty.
He moved to the fridge. A single jar of pickles and a carton of milk that had definitely seen better days stared back at him.
"You've got to be kidding me," he groaned. He remembered now—he had promised himself he'd go shopping two days ago, but a particularly good story arc had kept him glued to his screen.
He had two choices. He could open an app and order groceries, paying a premium for someone else to do the work, or he could go out himself. Usually, the app won. Going out was a chore. It meant dealing with the stares of strangers, the uneven cracks in the sidewalk, and the general exhaustion of being a person on wheels in a world built for people with legs.
But as he looked out the window at the bright Montreal afternoon, he felt a strange spark of defiance. He'd been cooped up for nearly three weeks. If he didn't leave now, he might actually turn into a manhwa character himself. Plus, he had a doctor's appointment next week, so he might as well get used to the outside world again.
"Fine," he whispered to the empty room. "We're going out."
He grabbed his wallet, his phone, and a light jacket. After a few minutes of checking locks, he wheeled himself out of his ground-floor apartment and onto the street.
The air was surprisingly pleasant. His neighborhood was just on the outskirts of the busy city center, a place where the houses were old and the trees were tall. The sound of distant traffic provided a constant background hum. Nuhel began the trek toward the local supermarket, his arms working in a steady rhythm. He was still fit—his chest and shoulders were broad, a remnant of his athletic days—so the physical effort wasn't the problem. It was the boredom of the journey.
He was about halfway there, navigating a particularly tricky patch of slanted pavement, when a shadow fell over him.
"Need a hand with that?" a soft, melodic voice asked.
Nuhel looked up, squinting against the sun. Standing there was a woman who looked like she'd stepped straight out of one of the romance novels he usually skipped. She had striking blue eyes that seemed to sparkle with genuine kindness, and her blonde hair was caught in a loose ponytail that caught the light. She was wearing a simple sundress and had a small backpack slung over one shoulder.
"I'm alright, thanks," Nuhel said reflexively. He was used to people offering help out of pity, and he usually turned them down.
The woman didn't look offended. Instead, she laughed softly. "I'm sure you are, but I'm headed to the supermarket anyway, and I'm feeling a bit chatty. It would give me an excuse to talk to someone other than myself. I'm Sarah, by the way."
Nuhel hesitated. Usually, he'd give a polite nod and keep going, but there was something about her energy that wasn't heavy or patronizing. She just seemed... friendly.
"Nuhel," he said, relaxing his grip on the wheels. "And I guess I wouldn't mind the company."
"Perfect!" Sarah said, stepping behind him and taking the handles. She didn't just push; she moved with a natural grace, keeping a steady pace that allowed them to talk easily.
As they rolled down the street, she asked him about his day. When he mentioned he'd been reading all morning, her eyes lit up.
"Oh, I love stories! Are you more of a mystery fan or do you like the crazy fantasy stuff?"
Nuhel found himself talking more than he had in months. He told her about the manhwa he'd just finished, explaining the tropes of 'Leveling Systems' and 'Awakenings.' He expected her to be bored, but she listened intently, asking questions that showed she actually cared.
"So, you like the idea of someone suddenly getting a power that changes everything?" she asked as they reached the automatic doors of the supermarket.
"I guess so," Nuhel admitted. "It's a nice thought. That one day, the world just changes and gives you a chance to be more than what you are."
"I think everyone feels that way sometimes," she said softly.
Once inside, Sarah grabbed a large shopping cart. "Alright, Nuhel. I'm your personal shopper for the hour. What's on the list?"
Nuhel felt a bit embarrassed. He usually just grabbed whatever was closest, but with her help, he actually started thinking about what he needed. He rattled off a list of items—granola bars, high-protein snacks, some fresh fruit, pasta, and a few bottles of his favorite iced coffee.
Sarah was efficient. She darted through the aisles, picking out the best-looking apples and checking the expiration dates on the milk. As they walked, she added her own items to the cart—mostly vegetables, some fancy-looking cheese, and a box of expensive herbal tea.
They joked about the prices and the weird people in the aisles. For a moment, Nuhel almost forgot about the wheelchair. He was just a guy shopping with a beautiful girl. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced since before the rainy night.
Despite his injury, Nuhel was well-off. His parents had left him a significant inheritance, and his insurance settlement from the accident had been substantial. He didn't have to work, which was a blessing and a curse. It meant he had all the time in the world to read, but it also meant he felt like he wasn't contributing to anything.
Finally, they reached the checkout line. The cashier began scanning the items, the rhythmic beep-beep-beep filling the air. Nuhel watched as the total climbed. Between his bulk-buying of snacks and Sarah's gourmet picks, the number on the screen was rising fast.
The cashier hit the total button. "That will be three hundred and fifty-seven dollars and twenty cents," the man said, looking bored.
Sarah reached into her bag to pull out her wallet. "Okay, let's see, my half should be—"
"Don't worry about it," Nuhel interrupted, pulling his phone from his pocket. "I've got it."
Sarah stopped, her hand halfway into her bag. She looked at the total on the screen and then back at him, her eyebrows shooting up. "Three hundred and fifty-seven dollars? Nuhel, no. That's way too much. I can pay for my own things, really."
"Consider it a 'thank you' for the company," Nuhel said with a small smile. "And for the push. My arms appreciate the break."
"Nuhel, I'm serious, let me—"
But before she could finish her sentence or pull out her card, Nuhel had already leaned forward. With a practiced motion, he tapped the back of his phone against the NFC reader on the card machine.
Ding!
The machine whirred for a second before printing out a long receipt.
"Payment successful," the cashier droned, handing the slip to Nuhel.
Sarah gasped, her mouth hanging open slightly. She turned to him, her blue eyes wide with a mix of shock and indignation. She looked like she wanted to be angry, but the absurdity of the situation kept her from quite getting there. She settled for a mock glare, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You are impossible," she said, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I was going to pay!"
Nuhel simply shrugged, his expression completely innocent as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he teased. "The machine was just hungry."