prompt: The Phone Booth
Inside that phone booth was a girl who needed to make a call.
"It's over. He told me everything."
"What? No, it's not how it sounds. I-"
"It's ok."
She hung up the phone after quickly uttering goodbye. It wasn't ok, of course, but her mother always told her not to burn her bridges. It would never be ok if she just said everything she wanted to.
Outside that phone booth was a man in a hurry. He needed a cab out of that rain and he wanted to get home. Not to his woman; she was long gone. He had nothing to get home to but his drink.
"Sorry."
She almost walked into him on her way out of the booth.
He almost pushed past with just a nod. He didn't once he saw the tears on her cheeks.
"Are you alright?" he stopped her.
"I'm just tired."
He was a man in a hurry, but he knew how a man was to respond.
"Here, put this on. It's too cold for such light clothes." He looked at her thin long-sleeve and put his coat around her shoulders. He hesitated to let go for a moment.
"T-thank you," she mustered before she crumpled against him.
The man held tight through her sobs. He rubbed her shoulders and whispered, "It's alright. It's alright now."
"Do you need help getting home?" he asked after a minute.
She managed to nod her head. The rain mixed with her tears, endlessly running down her face.
The man eased her onto a bench and placated her to sit while he called a cab.
He waited with his arm firmly around her, sitting gladly through the soaking rain until the cab came.
