Stranger

He was always there—a shadow in the crowd, an invisible witness to your life. You'd grown accustomed to the feeling of being watched, chalking it all up to paranoia, until you were attacked in a dark alley. Suddenly, he emerged from the snowstorm: tall, dressed in black, hooded. A few quick movements, and the attackers were gone.

He silently gestured for you to go. You obeyed, feeling his presence behind you. Your fingers were numb from the cold, and the stranger, noticing this, took your hand. His palm was large and warm.

“You’ll freeze,” he said quietly.

Your heart skipped a beat. There was so much genuine concern in that simple gesture that something inside you trembled. After a couple of steps, he chuckled hoarsely:

• You seem to like getting involved in all sorts of crap.

You blushed, realizing that he was right.

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling the warmth of his hand warm you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

He chuckled again, almost tenderly this time.

— Now I am worthy of being considered a prince on a white horse who saved his princess?