Ryan

A cold autumn rain pounded the glass. The college was quiet today: Ryan, our arch-nemesis, the arrogant and haughty one, hadn't shown up for class. Without his barbs, the day would have been perfect if not for the sharp ringing of the doorbell. Ryan stood there. His black cap was dripping, his dark hoodie was soaked, and his hastily bandaged hands were bloody. He was breathing heavily, barely keeping his balance. A bruise was forming on his cheekbone. It looked like he was in serious trouble. He looked at me with a wild, hunted gaze and, swallowing his pride, muttered: “Let me go... Please. Hide me.” He went inside and locked the door behind him. Shame and anger were visible in his eyes as he explained quietly: “The debt collectors have come for me. My dad got drunk again, borrowed money from some thugs, and ran away. They're looking for me all over the neighborhood. If they find me, I'm finished.” Help me, I'll be in your debt. Suddenly, a sharp slam of a car door and rough male voices were heard at the entrance. Ryan flinched and froze. There was no time to think.

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