Sweat trickled down my forehead, dampening the collar of my uniform shirt as I stood at the edge of the sidewalk.
It had been almost ten minutes since I’d frozen here, unable to take a single step.
The street in front of my boarding house seemed busier than usual, with cars, motorcycles, and tricycles rushing past me in a blur
I watched them go by, my heart racing, but my feet remained glued to the concrete beneath me.
“I need to cross,” I whispered to myself, glancing at the other side where the laundry shop awaited. My clothes wouldn’t wash themselves.
But despite knowing what I had to do, my legs refused to move.
I took a deep breath, willing my feet to step forward, but my knees felt weak, wobbling like jelly.
My hands were trembling as a large dump truck rumbled by, the sound of its engine echoing in my chest.
My heart pounded in sync with the noise, and suddenly, I was back in the moment that haunted me.
The moment that changed everything.
It happened a few years ago—an ordinary day turned nightmare.
I had been trying to cross a similar street when a speeding car came out of nowhere, missing me by mere inches.
The world had gone silent in that instant, the terror sinking into my bones.
Since then, crossing any road felt like stepping into a battlefield, and I was never sure if I would make it to the other side.
That fear gripped me now, tighter than ever. I could feel it clawing at my chest, making it hard to breathe. My vision blurred as panic set in, my hands clammy, and my legs felt like lead.
The street before me, full of speeding vehicles, felt impossible to conquer.
“Lord, please help me...” I whispered, the words barely leaving my trembling lips.
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the noise of the world around me.
It was too much—the sound of engines roaring, tires screeching, horns blaring—it all became a distant hum. I felt like I was floating, disconnected from reality, trapped in my fear.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, something broke through the fog.
A sharp, persistent beeping sound.
I blinked, trying to focus.
Through the haze, I saw a car had come to a stop near the pedestrian lane, the driver waving at me.
He was signaling for me to cross.
For a moment, I didn’t understand.
I stood frozen, staring at him, as if my brain had forgotten how to function.
But then, slowly, the pieces clicked into place. He was waiting for me.
The other cars had stopped behind him, creating a path just for me.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a step forward.
My legs were shaking, but I took another step, and then another. The fear hadn’t left me—it clung to my chest, my throat—but I kept moving. One foot in front of the other, until I was finally on the other side.
I made it.
My heart was still racing, but now it wasn’t from fear. It was from the realization that I had crossed something so much bigger than a street.
I turned back to look at the driver, the one who had been patient enough to stop and help me.
I smiled weakly and gave a small bow of gratitude, mouthing the words, “Thank you.”
He waved back before driving away, leaving me standing there, my chest full of relief.
I stayed there for a moment, taking it all in.
The sun was warm on my skin, and the noise of the street slowly returned to my ears. But this time, it didn’t feel so overwhelming.
I wasn’t shaking anymore.
As I climbed the stairs to my boarding house, a quiet smile crept onto my face.
There were still good people in the world, people who went out of their way to help others—strangers even—without expecting anything in return.
Sometimes, they’re sent at just the right moment, like angels in disguise, to help us when we need it most.
When I reached the door of my room, I paused and looked back down at the street.
Today, that driver was my angel. But this wasn’t just about crossing the street anymore.
It was about facing a fear that had followed me for years, a fear that had kept me from moving forward in more ways than one.
Crossing that road today wasn’t just about getting to the other side. It was about realizing that no matter how terrifying something may seem, there is always a way through.
Sometimes, all it takes is a little push, a kind gesture, or a helping hand to guide us.
There’s always a way to cross, I reminded myself.
The road may look long and dangerous, but if you trust the process, you’ll find the courage to take that first step.
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Non-FictionLife often presents itself as a series of hurdles, each one taller than the last. These hurdles, though daunting, are not meant to break us but to shape us into who we are meant to be. It is through our darkest nights that we gain the strength to fa...
