The Night I Ran
I ran. I didn’t stop. And I never looked back.
My hands shook as I grabbed the doorknob, heart pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe. I hadn’t run for long, my lungs still burned with every breathe I took.
How I hated running. I would never run if I didn’t have to.
The neighborhood was deserted. It was usually noisy, filled with kids playing and people hanging out, now eerily silent with the streetlights casting long shadow. Even the guard post was empty. After all, it was 3 AM, way too late for anyone to be awake.
I squinted into the darkness, my forgotten glasses turning the street into a blur of distorted shapes. Despite the blurriness, I could tell the street was empty. I waited, holding my breath. One second. Three. A minute.
No one was there.
He hadn’t chased me.
Maybe he never even got out of his white sedan, because if he did, he would definitely catch up to me. You see, I wasn’t exactly a fast runner, always finishing last in gym class.
My heart raced. I swallowed hard, reminded that danger lurks everywhere — in broad daylight, crowded places, secluded corners, public transport. And at night, the darkness offered the perfect cloak for someone preying on others.
Unlocking the door, I stepped inside, realizing how lucky I was. It was awful knowing he might have thought I was a s-worker, despite my long-sleeve flannel, trousers, and lack of makeup. At least I wasn’t in my school uniform; he didn’t see a helpless teenager alone on a deserted street.
There’s no way of knowing what would have happened if he had seen the opportunity.
Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, crippled by anxiety and self-doubt, I replay that night. What if he’d chased me? What if he was close and quick enough to grab me before I get the chance to run? What if I’d been naive enough to get in the car, oblivious to the danger until it was too late?
The car disappearing into the night, swallowed by the darkness, with no one to witness my fate —
But I didn’t get in the car. I didn’t.
As the thought sunk into my mind, my body would slowly relax. That single thought became a strange comfort.
Sure, there were a million “what ifs” that haunted me, paths not taken, opportunities missed, wrong turns and regrets. But this “what if,” this terrifying possibility, brought a strange kind of peace. It was a stark reminder that things could have been so much worse.
In the quiet of the night, my eyes slowly closing, and I let myself fall into a dreamless, peaceful darkness —
I ran, I didn’t stop, and I never looked back.
