Chapter 1
“Mom, I know,” I say, slightly breathless but smiling. “I’ll eat properly. And I’ll rest. You don’t have to worry about these basic things. I do take care of myself.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the call—the kind that always means she’s preparing her next argument.
“Yes, Mom, I’m running,” I add quickly, anticipating her concern. “I just came out for some fresh air.”
“Oh my God,” she gasps, dramatic as ever. “Running? At this time? Are you trying to scare me? My drama queen what is it now? Stress? Or are you falling sick again?”
I laugh softly, shaking my head as I dodge a pothole. “No sickness. Just stress.”
And right on cue, my mother launches into her usual monologue—my health, my age, my non-existent love life, my career, how I work too much, how it’s only been a week and I’m already dealing with work pressure, how I don’t eat on time, how she knows I’m not telling her everything. Her words overlap, one concern tripping over another, as though silence itself frightens her.
“Mom,” I interrupt gently, though I know it won’t stop her for long. “I love you. But sometimes… sometimes you’re also the reason for my stress.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath. Then silence. Followed by an exaggerated sigh.
“Oh, now I’m the villain,” she says. “Fine. Say what you want.”
I slow my pace, smiling to myself. “I’m joking. Just trying to lighten the mood. Listen after this run, I’ll go back, eat healthy and sleep peacefully. I’ll wake up early and go to work. So don’t worry. I’m happy. It’s just that sometimes the workload gets heavy, and I need to cool myself down. That’s all. Nothing serious.”
Another pause. Then, softer, “You promise?”
“I promise Mrs. Lawson.”
“Mira…Okay,” she says, still unconvinced, but laughing. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Ma. Bye.”
I end the call and slip my phone into the pocket of my leggings. It feels quieter without her voice filling my ears. I slow for a moment, letting the cool air settle in my lungs, and smile to myself. What will I do without her, I miss her bickering and non stop care for me. According to my mother, I’m “good-looking enough to turn heads,” though I suspect that’s just her way of reassuring herself that I will eventually find some one and marry.
I came to this city for a fresh start not because I was chasing something new but I wanted to leave behind the memories of pain and distress. Here no one watched me with expectations or pity. I could be just another face in the crowd, another woman trying to rebuild her life quietly, one routine at a time.
I’m here now, running through the quiet outskirts of the neighbourhood, letting the rhythm of my feet hit the ground, letting the music drown out the day. I see a lot of people walking, running and few just standing chitchatting or gossiping, laughing. I take the right where everything is calm, I run for half a mile and then I look ahead, lost in thought and stumble. I slow my pace as I see that without realizing it, I’ve crossed beyond a faded NO TRESPASSING board. The road narrows. To my right, cornfields stretch endlessly, tall stalks swaying in the breeze. To my left, a worn path curves through the dirt I see that it is shaped by repeated footsteps.
Someone else runs here, I think.
Without giving it much thought, I continue.
“Fifteen minutes,” I tell myself, picking up speed. I turn the music louder and let my body take over.
That’s when I notice the wall.
Tall. Concrete. Running parallel to the cornfield. A gate breaks its length old iron bars, slightly open, creaking softly in the wind.
And then I see him.
He’s standing near the gate. Not leaning. Not pacing. Just standing. Watching me.
He is wearing blue scrubs and a mask. It looked as though he had stepped out only briefly—perhaps to throw the mask away, or to check the mailbox beside the gate; I wasn’t sure. He fidgeted with it, opening and closing the mailbox absentmindedly, fingers restless, before finally going still. His gaze was fixed beyond the cornfield, which surprised me, because it was just a field nothing particularly worth watching. Only when I ran farther along the track did I notice the sun setting in the distance, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and gold. Yet his eyes were not on the sunset. They were focused on something else entirely.
I slow instinctively.
His eyes lock onto mine sharp, intense, catching the light in a way that makes them look almost red. His nostrils flare, as if he’s holding something back. His body is rigid, like a statue that has decided to breathe.
“Hi,” I say hesitantly, unsure why I feel the need to acknowledge him.
He doesn’t respond.
Instead, he steps back, grips the gate, and turns his face toward the cornfield like I no longer exist.
Awkward.
I hesitate, then shrug and keep running, telling myself I’m overthinking it.
“Stop.”
The word slices through my music and my thoughts.
I freeze.
“You should not come here,” he says sharply. “Did you not see the No Trespassing board? This is private land.”
I pull out one earbud, my heart thudding. “Oh, was there a board? I’m sorry. I must’ve missed it.”
His eyes narrow, clearly unconvinced.
“I thought the field looked peaceful,” I add quickly. “I just wanted to run till that mark. I didn’t see anyone, so I thought there’d be any harm. I just… needed some air, you know. The sun is setting, weather is good” My God now I am just blabbering
He studies me for a moment, “Do you run here daily?”
“No. I recently moved here.” I admit. “Mostly I want to run to relieve the stress.”
Something shifts in his expression, not softer, but less hostile.
“There’s no harm if you run till that mark,” he says, pointing ahead. “But not beyond it.”
Relief washes through me.
I smile genuine this time. “Thank you.”
I turn and run, finishing my lap, my heart lighter than it was minutes ago.
On my way back, he’s still there.
Arms folded. Muscles taut beneath his shirt. The sight steals my breath for a split second. I look away, annoyed at myself.
As I pass him, I wave. “Thanks again.”
He nods. Silent. Watching.
I keep running but something feels different now.
Every few steps, I glance back.
And every time I do, he’s still there.
Standing by the gate. Watching me run.
