The wind cut through me as I locked up the gas station. It was just past midnight on Christmas Eve, the kind of cold that creeps into your bones.
That’s when I spotted her — a little girl, huddled near the roadside.
Her small frame trembled against the chill, eyes scanning the empty streets like she was searching for something, or someone.
I paused, the keys jingling in my hand.
She looked so vulnerable, a stark contrast to the silent town around us.
I could hear her soft voice, barely audible over the wind, praying out loud.
“…”
It was a sound that clung to the night air, fragile yet persistent.
I knew I should look away, return to my routines, but something held me there.
Something about her desperation pulled at me, a silent plea I couldn’t ignore.
