A Chance in the Cold
The wind cut through the city streets like a knife, slipping past my threadbare coat as if it wasn't even there. I hunched my shoulders, trying to disappear into myself, but the cold found every exposed inch of skin. My stomach clenched, hollow, and aching. I had stopped counting the hours since my last meal—it didn't matter anymore.
People rushed past me, bundled in thick coats, moving too fast to notice me standing on the corner. I told myself I didn't need them. That I could do this on my own. But the truth was harder to swallow than the hunger: I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going.
Then, the scent hit me—warm bread, sizzling meat, something rich and savory floating from the small diner across the street. My feet moved before I could stop them, drawn by the promise of warmth and food, even if all I could do was stand outside and pretend I belonged there.
I hovered near the entrance, hands stuffed in my pockets, staring through the fogged-up window at people sitting in booths, laughing between bites of food. My stomach twisted.
"You hungry?"
The voice made me flinch. I turned slowly to see an older man standing near the door, his hands tucked into the pockets of a worn leather jacket. His face was lined, his graying beard rough around the edges, but his eyes weren't cruel. They held something softer—something I hadn't seen in a long time.
I forced my face into something neutral. "I'm fine."
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded toward the door. "Come inside. No catch, just a meal."
I wanted to say no. I wanted to keep walking, pretend I wasn't starving, pretend I didn't need anyone's help. But my stomach lurched violently, betraying me. Before I knew it, I was following him inside.
The warmth hit me first, seeping into my frozen fingers and making them ache. The smell was even stronger now, wrapping around me like a cruel embrace. I sat stiffly in the corner booth, my back to the wall, watching as the man slid into the seat across from me.
"Name's Rayne," he said.
I hesitated, then mumbled, "Celeste."
Rayne gestured to the waitress, a woman with tired eyes but a kind smile. "Get her something hot, whatever's good today."
Minutes later, a plate appeared in front of me—steaming eggs, buttered toast, and crispy bacon. I hesitated, my fingers twitching on the edge of the table. I didn't deserve this. I hadn't earned it.
"Eat," Rayne said gently.
The first bite nearly undid me. The food was warm and real, and it took everything in me not to cry as I ate too fast, too desperately. When my hands started shaking, Rayne pushed a glass of water toward me. "Slow down."
I swallowed hard, the words clawing at my throat before I could stop them. "Why are you doing this?"
Rayne took a sip of his coffee, staring at the swirling steam. "Because once, a long time ago, someone did the same for me."
Silence stretched between us. I didn't trust kindness. It had always come with conditions, with expectations I couldn't meet. But Rayne just sat there, letting me exist without asking for anything in return.
"You got somewhere to go?" he asked, voice casual but laced with something deeper.
I straightened. "Yeah."
His mouth twitched, like he didn't believe me but wasn't going to push. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills, sliding them across the table. "This ain't charity. Just a little help."
I stared at the money. My pride screamed at me to walk away, but desperation was louder. My fingers hovered, then snatched it up, stuffing it deep into my coat.
Rayne stood, tossing a few extra dollars on the table. "If you ever need another meal, you know where to find me."
And just like that, he was gone.
I sat there for a long time, staring at the empty booth across from me. The world outside was still cold, still uncaring. But for the first time in a long time, I wasn't invisible.
Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't beyond saving.