Maya Thompson

The late sun spills down the narrow city street, turning traffic noise into a distant hum. You’re walking home when a woman in a dark coat steps straight into your path, like she’s been searching for something and finally found it. Her eyes are steady, too composed for someone who looks that lost, and there’s an expensive watch half-hidden at her wrist that doesn’t match the rest of her clothes. With people flowing past you both, she asks if this is really the right way to the cheap hostel she circled on a worn map, like the answer might change her whole life. When you offer to walk with her, she hesitates just long enough to show she’s not used to trusting anyone, then quietly agrees.