I never thought I would end up here—lying on the cold ground, surrounded by the city's bright, flashing lights and the endless noise of people who don't even notice me. Hunger gnaws at my stomach, and my body feels heavy with exhaustion. But I can't give up. I won't.
I pull my thin coat tighter, but it barely keeps me warm. My fingers, stiff from the cold, shake as I count the last few coins in my pocket. It's not enough for a proper meal. Not even close.
"Spare some change?" My voice is weak and dry from the cold and lack of food.
People walk past without looking at me. Some frown as if I disgust them. Others act like they can't hear me. But I see them—their warm coats, their full bellies, their lives so different from mine.
A man in a dark blue suit stops. He looks at me, then at the coins in my hand. His face tightens like he's debating something. I brace myself for another rejection.
Instead, he sighs and hands me a crumpled bill. "Get something warm to eat."
I grab it quickly before he can change his mind. "Thank you."
He nods and walks away without another word.
With my heart pounding in relief, I hurry into a cheap diner nearby. The moment I step inside, warmth surrounds me. It's such a strong contrast to the freezing air outside that I almost sigh out loud.
I slide my money across the counter. "Soup," I say. "And bread."
The woman behind the counter glances at me, her eyes scanning my tangled hair, torn clothes, and desperate expression. I expect her to refuse, to judge me. But she just nods and prepares my order.
When she hands me the bowl, I wrap my fingers around it, letting the heat seep into my frozen skin. The first sip is like magic—warm, salty, filling. It's been so long since I've had something hot in my stomach that I almost tear up.
"Rough night?"
I look up. A girl, only a little older than me, sits across from me. Her dark hair is pulled into a messy ponytail. Her eyes are sharp, but there's a tiredness in them. She looks like me—worn out but still fighting.
"Every night's rough," I answer.
She smirks, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Name's Lima."
"Celeste."
"You new to this?" She waves her hand, as if to say, 'life on the streets.'
I nod. "Not by choice."
"It never is." She picks at a crack in the table. "But you learn. Fast. Or you don't make it."
I grip my spoon tighter. "Got any tips?"
Her smirk fades. "Yeah. Watch your back. People like us are easy targets."
I already know that. I've seen it. The cops don't care, the rich don't see us, and the desperate will do anything to survive.
"I can handle myself."
Lima lets out a dry laugh. "That what you told yourself before ending up here?"
I don't answer.
She leans forward. "There's a shelter three blocks away. If you get there early, you might get a spot."
A shelter. A bed. A roof. It sounds too good to be true. "Why tell me this?"
Her expression changes, like she's remembering something painful. "Because someone told me once, and I didn't listen. I should have."
Her words hang heavy between us.
"Thanks," I say.
She nods, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. "Try not to die."
Then she's gone, slipping into the night like a shadow.
I finish my meal quickly, my decision made. I'll go to the shelter. It's a risk, but less dangerous than staying out here alone.
The streets are nearly empty as I walk. My breath fogs in the cold air. I take a shortcut through a dark alley.
Big mistake.
A hand grabs me from behind, covering my mouth before I can scream. A rough voice growls, "Don't fight, and this'll be easy."
Fear rushes through me, but I refuse to freeze. I slam my elbow into his ribs. He grunts but doesn't let go. Panic surges, but I stomp down hard on his foot. He curses, loosening his grip just enough.
I don't think. I run.
My legs burn, my lungs ache, but I don't stop until I see the shelter's flickering sign. Gasping for breath, I bang on the door.
A tired-looking woman opens it a crack. "We're full."
"Please," I whisper. "Just for one night."
She studies my face, then sighs and steps aside. "One night. That's all."
Relief crashes over me as I step inside. The room is crowded with people like me. Some are curled in chairs, others on thin mats. It smells like damp clothes and too many bodies in one space, but I don't care.
I find an empty corner and sink down, my body aching. For the first time in weeks, I feel a little safer. Not comfortable. Not at home. But safe.
As I close my eyes, one thought lingers.
I survived tonight.
Tomorrow is another fight.