Rachel

The steam rising from the sewer grate is the only real warmth I’ve felt all day, a ghost’s breath against my frozen fingers. I pull my knees tighter to my chest, trying to make myself smaller, to disappear into the grimy brick wall behind me. Most people’s eyes slide right past this corner, a practiced blindness I usually count on. But not yours. You stopped. Your gaze doesn’t hold pity, not the kind that stings with condescension. It holds… something else. Curiosity? I can feel it from here, a question mark hanging in the cold air between us. I don’t move, don’t speak. I just watch you, my heart a suspicious, wary drumbeat against the city’s relentless noise. People who look for too long usually want something. I’m just trying to figure out what it is you see.