Kiara
I dropped onto a public bench, legs flopping out in front of me, and honestly, I felt like someone rethinking every bad decision she'd made this year. Exhaustion stuck to me like sweat. This morning I'd convinced myself to sign up for an online delivery gig — just a quick hustle, right? Temporary struggle builds character, I told myself.
Three hours later, my phone screen showed three bucks. Just... three. I stared at it like maybe it'd fix itself out of sympathy.
Three dollars couldn't buy lunch, definitely not rent. At this rate, I'd be delivering boxes until I was old enough to actually need a walker — just for a pillow.
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. Maybe the running around wouldn't be so bad if the money matched the effort. But this? This wasn't work — it was athletic poverty.
For a second, I wished Mom hadn't drained her retirement savings on my therapy. If she'd bought a condo instead, at least I'd have somewhere stable to inherit. Something solid. Not tip-dependent. I sighed so loud it probably annoyed the pigeons.
And then—wham.
Something hard smacked straight into my face. Pain exploded, not in a dramatic slow-motion way, but quick and real.
"Ow—what the hell?!" I shot upright, hand pressed to my nose. My eyes teared up, and something warm slid toward my mouth.
Please don't be—blood. Yep, blood.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding," I muttered. I looked up, and there was a bunch of high school boys frozen on the basketball court, watching me like I'd just been run over. One of them, taller than the rest, jogged over looking guilty and panicked.
"We're so sorry, ma'am," he said, bowing awkwardly. "It slipped. We didn't mean to—"
Technically, I sat by a basketball court. He looked mortified. I could've scared him but honestly, I just wanted to go home.
I breathed out slow. "It's fine. Just... try not to aim for my face next time?"
He grabbed the ball and zipped back to his friends, all relieved I wasn't about to call their parents.
I got up, blood still dripping.
"Great," I mumbled. "Pretty soon, my nose'll be crooked forever."
As I started to leave, I ran right into someone — solid, unmoving. I looked up. Alfred.
His face had that mix of annoyance and concern I'd somehow learned to expect.
"Your nose is bleeding," he said, calm like he was reading the weather.
"I noticed."
He glanced at the court. "Not your best seat selection."
I narrowed my eyes. "Seriously? You're critiquing benches?"
"I'm observing." He stepped close and I stepped back without thinking.
"You need that checked," he said.
"What are you doing here, Alfred?" My irritation slipped through. "Please don't say this is another random coincidence."
He didn't blink. "I'm not following you."
"Oh, right. You just happen to be in the park."
"I was on a work call," he said, totally unfazed. "Saw you get nailed by a basketball."
"It wasn't an assault."
"It looked violent."
Then he pulled out a blue handkerchief — perfectly folded, of course — and wiped the blood from my lip, careful but somehow not awkward.
"Hold this." He pressed it gently under my nose.
"I can do that myself," I muttered.
"I know."
I hesitated, but kept it in place.
"I'm headed to the medical district," he said. "You should get checked out."
"And it just so happens you're going that way?"
"Yes."
I watched him, trying to figure out if he was offering to walk me, or just stating a fact. Neither, apparently.
"Fine. I'm going too," I grumbled.
"Good." We walked — not side by side, just... near each other. The distance felt intentional. Comfortable. Quiet.
——
The hospital was close, only a few blocks. As soon as we stepped inside, the sharp scent of disinfectant punched me in the nose.
Alfred paused at reception, said something to the nurse so quietly I couldn't catch it. Suddenly, she nodded, and Alfred turned back.
"Down the corridor. Second door on the left. Dr. Kareem."
"That was fast," I said.
"He's a friend."
Of course.
"I have a meeting," Alfred added. "You'll be fine."
Then, without drama, he walked away. No lingering, just gone.
I followed the hallway, pressed at the door.
A voice from inside called, "Come in."
Dr. Kareem was hunched behind his desk, tiny glasses perched way too low on his nose. He didn't bother looking up, just lifted his eyes.
"I can see you broke your nose," he said, dry as toast.
My hand flew to my face. "It's obvious?"
"A little." He sounded half-amused. Panic churned in my chest. Was it swelling? Crooked? Deformed already?
"I got hit by a basketball," I said.
He waved me toward the chair. "Sit."
He poked and prodded a bit, then leaned back. "It's not broken. Just impact trauma. Some swelling. I'll put this tube on it, you'll be fine." He even managed a smile.
Relief flooded me.
"Thank you. How much—"
He waved me off. "No charge."
I blinked. "Wait, really?"
He fiddled with his glasses. "Alfred sent you here, and he and I go way back."
"I can pay—"
"You won't." Not rude — just final. For a second, I didn't know what to feel.
Grateful? Confused? Slightly weirded out?
Alfred always seemed to glide through life, and somehow, he kept showing up when mine was messy.
I pressed the blue handkerchief into my palm.
Coincidence.
Right?