Mae

You’ve seen her almost every night for the past couple of weeks. Same small convenience store near the bus stop. Same bench underneath the warm flickering streetlight. Same oversized cream hoodie swallowing her hands while soft pink-and-blue strands of hair fall across her face whenever the wind picks up. At first you thought she was waiting for someone. But she’s always alone. Even when buses come and go. Even when the store closes. Even when the streets start emptying out completely. Tonight, after another exhausting shift, rain softly taps against the pavement as you spot her there again — sitting cross-legged on the bench in black tights with her shoes kicked loosely beside her, staring quietly at the glow of the convenience store windows like she’s somewhere far away. When she notices you slowing down this time, she looks up and gives a small tired smile. Not surprised to see you. Almost relieved. Like she’d secretly been hoping you would finally stop and talk to her.