The Stranger on the Bridge
The night had settled over the city, filling the streets with silence and cold wind.
The bridge stood like a long stretch of stone above the river, its edges lined with streetlights that shimmered against the dark water below. The city was still awake somewhere in the distance, but here, everything felt strangely quiet.
Livia
walked slowly.
Tears had dried across her face, leaving faint marks on her skin. Her eyes were swollen from crying and rubbing them over and over again. She had lost count of how many times she'd wiped her face tonight.
Her steps felt heavier with every second.
When she reached the edge of the bridge, she stopped.
The cold wind brushed softly against her face.
For a moment, she stared down at the dark water beneath her.
Her mind felt strangely quiet.
Maybe taking one more step would finally make everything stop.
Then—
A sudden gust of wind hit her face.
Livia turned her head.
A man was sitting on a bench a short distance away.
He had been there for who knew how long.
His posture was relaxed, almost annoyingly so, as if sitting alone beneath a streetlight in the middle of the night was the most ordinary thing in the world.
He looked at her.
Then he raised an eyebrow.
“Jump.”
Livia froze.
That was definitely not what she had expected to hear.
The man glanced at the time on his phone and sighed.
“Hurry up. It's already late.”
Her sadness instantly turned into anger.
“Excuse me?”
He looked at her again.
“Who are you to tell me to jump?”
His expression didn't change.
“Aren't you here to jump?”
Livia stared at him.
She had absolutely no answer for that.
The man shifted toward the corner of the bench, making some room.
“Well, I guess you changed your mind.”
He paused.
“Since you're not going to jump, I have plenty of time. I can hear you out.”
Livia remained standing.
He sighed again.
“Don't delay. Hurry up.”
She glared at him.
She didn't want to talk to some random stranger.
She didn't even know why she was still standing there.
Yet, somehow, her body moved before her mind could stop it.
She walked over and sat beside him.
There was a long silence between them.
The man looked at her.
“So... what is it?”
Livia lowered her gaze.
She took a quiet breath.
“I failed to find home.”
The man's expression changed slightly.
Home?
For a second, he looked almost confused, as if he wondered whether she had gotten lost.
But he didn't ask.
He simply gave her space.
Livia looked toward the river.
The cold air made her eyes sting.
She didn't want to talk about it.
She didn't want to explain herself to anyone.
But somehow, the words came anyway.
“My parents are divorced.”
Her voice was quiet.
“My dad was in debt, so he sold the house. I had nowhere to go, so I moved to my aunt's house.”
She paused.
“I wanted to become a fine artist. I really thought I could do it.”
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her clothes.
“But I had to work three part-time jobs. I thought I could manage it. I thought I could handle everything.”
A bitter laugh escaped her.
“But I started feeling like I was losing myself.”
The man remained silent.
“So I talked to my mom. At first, I thought she understood me.”
Livia swallowed.
“Then I moved to her place. I told her I wanted to study BFA. I wanted to go to university.”
Her voice became quieter.
“I asked her for brushes and colours. She told me she couldn't afford them.”
She looked down at her hands.
“I stayed quiet.”
A pause.
“But then I heard her talking to her friend.”
Her voice trembled.
“She said my nagging was giving her stress.”
Livia wiped her cheek.
“I thought... maybe I could handle everything better. Maybe I was just making things harder for everyone.”
Finally, she looked at him.
Her eyes were silently asking for something.
Comfort
.
Reassurance
.
Anything.
Instead, the man said, “
Yes. You can
.”
Livia blinked.
Then he continued.
“But you didn't try.”
She froze.
Her tears began falling again.
“Yup.”
Her voice cracked.
“You're right.”
She looked down.
“I should have stayed at my aunt's house and kept working three jobs. I should have helped my dad. But I chose my comfort.”
Her breathing became uneven.
“And with my mom... I shouldn't have asked her for anything. I should've just earned everything myself.”
She laughed weakly through her tears.
“Of course. Fine artists don't even have a career.”
Her tears fell onto her thighs.
“My sister is only eight years old.”
She shook her head.
“And she's more mature than me. She understands Mom's financial situation. She never nags her.”
Livia slowly stood.
“You're right.”
She wiped her face again.
“I'm the problem.”
She looked at the stranger for only a second.
“Sorry for disturbing you.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Her steps were slow.
“Wait.”
She stopped.
Hope flickered in her chest before she could stop it.
Maybe he finally had something kind to say.
She looked back.
The man stood beside the bench, his hands in his pockets
.
His expression was completely unreadable.
“This place is nice for crying.”
Livia stared at him.
“You'll probably visit again.”
Her mouth parted slightly.
He glanced toward the road.
“Just go to your mom's place now.”
Then, as casually as if he had just finished an ordinary conversation, he added,
“Good night
.”
And walked away.
Livia remained standing beneath the streetlight.
She couldn't speak.
Was he actually taking her seriously?
Had he really listened to everything she had just said?
Not even one comforting word.
Not one.
And somehow, that silence became another confirmation inside her mind.
He was right
.
Maybe she really was the problem
.
Her lips barely moved.
“He was right.”
She looked down at the ground.
“I don't have enough courage.”
Slowly, she turned around and walked away, disappearing into the dim stretch of streetlights.
