III. Are you a girl?

"Who are you?"

I could see the pain in his eyes, a silent plea for an answer.

I sighed and gently removed his hand from my arm.

"Sorry, but I can't give you the answer you're looking for. I don't think my name is what you truly want to know—just something you need to satisfy yourself. And I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

I turned to leave, but as I stretched my arm, a stinging pain shot through it. Small shards of glass clung to the wound, and the sight of blood made my stomach churn.

I swallowed hard, closed my eyes, and stomped my foot before walking away, distracted by my injured arm and not paying attention to where I was going.

A loud honk rang through the air.

I lifted my head just in time to see blinding headlights racing toward me.

Wait… am I really going to die over a small wound?

Before I could react, a strong force yanked me back, and I collided against something firm—a broad, solid chest.

I could hear his heartbeat. I could smell his scent. I could feel his breath against me.

And worst of all… my own heart was racing.

My cheeks burned with warmth, an unfamiliar comfort washing over me in this stranger's arms.

He coughed, snapping me back to reality. I quickly pushed him away and cleared my throat, but the pain in my arm made me bite my lower lip. I hated feeling weak.

Without a word, he grabbed my wrist and led me through unfamiliar streets. I wasn't good with directions, and if he was planning anything dangerous, I had no idea how to get back.

We stopped in a small room, its atmosphere peaceful. I liked it.

He rummaged through a drawer, then took my arm, inspecting it with an unreadable expression before opening a box. Without hesitation, he began removing the glass shards from my wound.

My eyes squeezed shut. The pain was unbearable—I wanted to scream, to yank his hair, to curse him. But I couldn't even utter a word.

When I finally opened my eyes, I couldn't help but smirk.

He looked irritated. Maybe he was wondering why he was helping me in the first place. He had nothing to do with me, yet here he was—stuck in the rain, his coat draped over my shoulders, carefully tending to my wounds.

And strangely… I felt comfortable around him. Vulnerable, even.

After bandaging my arm, he stood up and looked at me with cold indifference.

"I hope I never see your face again."

My jaw dropped.

"Alright, fine by me. I won't go out of my way to run into you either."

"Good. I don't need any more inconveniences in my life—especially from you."

I rolled my eyes, even though he wasn't looking.

"Believe me, I feel the same way. Let's just go our separate ways and avoid each other. I don't want you meddling in my business. I have no intention of causing you trouble—I just want to live my life without interruptions."

Without another word, he walked out.

That's when panic set in.

I had no idea where I was. The streets were dark and unfamiliar, and without Grandpa, I felt lost.

You can do this, Kaesu. AJA!

I took a deep breath and stepped outside, determined to find my way home. The area was remote, with no one around and no taxis in sight. I walked in the opposite direction of where the guy had gone, hoping it would lead somewhere.

Minutes passed.

Then, finally—a taxi appeared in the distance. Relief flooded me as I waved at it, grinning like an idiot.

I climbed inside, about to give my address when the driver spoke.

"Are you a girl?"

I blinked. "Y-yeah?"

What kind of question was that? Was that an insult?

"But the person who booked me was a guy. My apologies, ma'am—I must have mistaken you for someone else."

I quickly smiled at the driver, but my mind was racing.

I turned to check if he was still around, but… no one was there.

Did he book me a cab home?

Shaking my head, I gave the driver my address and rode in silence.

When I arrived home and reached for my door, a sudden shout startled me.

"Why are you soaking wet?! Where have you been?! It's late!"

I turned to see Alex, his voice sharp with concern.

I scoffed. He sounds like a worried mother.

It was odd. I never had a mother—never experienced being taken care of like this.

Before I could say anything, he threw a blanket over my shoulders, hurriedly opened the door, and led me to the couch. Moments later, he was bustling around the kitchen.

"Feeling at home, huh?" I teased.

"Why wouldn't I? We're friends."

I smirked. "And you still insist on that?"

"Of course." He raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to know you're not alone."

His usual big grin softened into something gentler.

I cleared my throat, unsure how to respond.

He turned back to whatever he was doing.

"So, where's Lara?" I asked.

"Oh! She has her own place. Her dad won't let her live in apartments like this alone."