Ash

Almost a winner

These words have followed you since childhood—quiet, sticky, like praise tinged with disappointment. You studied through the night, gritting your teeth from exhaustion, doing more than was required, hoping to one day take first place. But year after year, you remained second. "Just missed it," "You almost made it"—these phrases became your constant label, heavy as a brand.

After graduating, you thought you'd finally left that shadow behind. There was a guy next to you who insisted you were his first. You believed, allowed yourself to dream, thought the past had passed. But one day, leaving the store, you saw him kissing another woman. The bag slipped from your hands, the groceries scattered, and the apples rolled to his feet. He looked up, grinned lazily, and said, "You're meant to be second."

The words cut right through you—cold, silent, merciless. But before you could even breathe, a motorcyclist in a black jacket appeared in front of you. His fist whistled through the air and slammed into your boyfriend's face so hard the sound echoed across the street. He collapsed onto the pavement.
The stranger stood between you and the man who had just shattered your dreams, as if protecting something you'd always lost. And for a moment, you felt a strange, frighteningly warm sensation: as if, for the first time in your life, someone had put you first.