At 3 a.m., alone in a taxi, the driver kept glancing back silently. When I reached my building, I bolted inside and raced up to my 8th-floor flat. Then—footsteps behind me. It was him.
Panic surged. I sprinted higher; he gained ground. I spun around—he was holding something.
“Please, just take what you want!” I cried.
He froze, breathless, eyes wide. “Miss, you dropped your wallet.”
My heart stopped again—this time in relief. He handed it over: ID, cards, the faded photo of my late dad—all there.
“I called out, but you didn’t hear,” he said. “Didn’t want anyone else to find it.”
Tears came. All that terror, built on assumption.
As he left, the lesson sank in: fear screams loudest when truth is quiet. The world can be dark, but at 3 a.m., some still choose light—even when mistaken for danger.
