Julia rushed to her job interview, her heart pounding. In one hand, she held a crumpled resume, in the other, a bag of food. Her hair was hastily tied back, and her quick steps showed just how important this day was. She decided to take a shortcut through a narrow alley. The wet papers on the ground made it slippery. And then, in the blink of an eye, everything went wrong. She slipped, the bag flew out of her hand, rice and chicken scattered in the air, and she hit the ground.
Oh, great, Julia muttered, sitting there, staring at her spilled lunch, as if she had lost something far more valuable than food.
Are you hurt? The voice came from where she least expected. From behind a stack of boxes in the corner of the alley, a man appeared, clearly homeless, with messy hair, an unshaven face, and worn out clothes. But something about him was different.
His eyes. There was a calm, sharp look in them that didn’t match his rough appearance. I think I’m okay.
Julia answered, picking up what was left of her meal. He stepped closer and picked up the fallen container, handing it to her with a slight smile. There’s still a little left.
Julia hesitated before taking it from him. Do you live here? The man glanced around before replying. For now, yes, but it’s temporary.
I’m between two paths. Paths between who I was and who I will be. Julia stared at him, surprised.
What kind of homeless man talked like that? That’s when she noticed the wound on his foot. A nasty cut, still bleeding. You’re hurt.
It’s nothing. I’m used to it. Without thinking, Julia opened her backpack.
She pulled out a tissue, a small bottle of alcohol, and some tape. This will sting a little, she warned. I’ve had worse, he said, trying to sound tough, but his face twisted the moment the alcohol touched his skin.
She quickly finished the bandage and was about to stand up when her stomach growled loudly. Perfect, she grumbled. Lost my lunch, running late, and now I’m being helped by someone worse off than me.
I have a bag of bread. Want some? She looked at him in surprise, then at the bag he was holding out, and let out a resigned sigh. Only if there’s butter.
He chuckled, and so did she. A few minutes later, they sat on the curb, sharing the bread like old friends. Julia glanced at her watch and realized she was already too late.
No point in rushing anymore. The interview she had wanted so badly was gone. Well, that’s it.
No job, no lunch, and now I’m wasting time with a mysterious man who has strangely beautiful eyes. You think my eyes are beautiful? Julia blushed and looked away. What’s your name? She asked, changing the subject.
David, and yours? Julia. He studied her for a moment as if memorizing her face. So you really live on the streets? Technically, yes, but my roof is the sky.
That must be hard. David didn’t answer. He just sat in silence.
Julia stood up, dusted off her clothes, and picked up her resume. Good luck, David. You too, Julia.
She walked away, but she didn’t forget him. In the days that followed, Julia kept passing through that alley. Always in a hurry.
Always chasing new opportunities. The interviews became a cycle of empty promises. But David? He was always there.
In the same spot, with the same calm and observant gaze. Sometimes they exchanged greetings. Other times, short conversations.
Once, he complimented her courage for standing up to a rude street vendor. Slowly, his presence became a small but steady part of her chaotic days. Then, on a freezing afternoon, Julia walked through the alley again.
She had just left another disappointing interview. And she found David. Different.
He was shivering. The bandage she had put on was still there, but now dirty and barely holding. The wound had worsened.
His face was pale, his eyes sunken, and his arms wrapped around himself, as if trying to hold on to what little warmth was left. Julia walked closer. You still have that bandage? She asked, concerned.
It’s still holding, he replied, forcing a weak smile. She knelt down to check. The wound was infected, and he could barely hide his shaking.
Julia looked around, thinking. She knew it might not be the safest choice. But then she thought about the small back room in her apartment.
Tiny, simple, but it had a bed, a blanket, and a heater that worked. I have a place, she whispered. David looked at her with a mix of surprise and caution.