One time, while sitting in a coffee shop, I was dragged out by a group of people. They accused me of “pretending to be high-minded” and said I didn’t realize how “dirty” I was deep down. The leader of the group grabbed my collar and pulled me outside, saying, “You lost our love letters? That little bitch made me lose a bet with someone else.”
Probably, their discarded love letters were among the trash from yesterday. Their lives must be so empty if they intersect with someone like me, who’s on the fringes. At that moment, I didn’t say anything. I took a punch without flinching, and just as the second punch was about to land, a pair of big hands stopped it.
A few people who had been so aggressive suddenly lost their confidence and said, “Zachary, let’s get out of here.” They quickly ran off, looking defeated.
“It’s okay,” Zachary said, turning around with a gentle smile. His words felt like a warm breeze that melted away the sadness I’d been shielding.
So, standing by the roadside with a swollen face, I started crying loudly. Zachary, looking a bit flustered, quickly came over to comfort me, saying, “Don’t cry. I’ll go beat up those guys later.”