The Weight of Running
The night was heavy with sirens.
.....................….
The air was thick and dry, clinging to her lungs like smoke. Nuong's legs burned, her sandals slipping on the gravel as she ran. Behind her, the sound of engines roared—closer, louder. They were coming.
And beside her, trying to keep up, was Vin.
The nine-year-old's tiny arms pumped uselessly at his sides. His face was streaked with sweat and tears, his breath wheezing louder with each step.
"Vin! Just a little further!"
But it was no use.
His foot caught on a rock. He stumbled, crashed forward, and didn't get back up.
Nuong skidded to a stop.
"No—no, no—get up!" She dropped to her knees beside him, shaking his shoulders. "You have to run!"
"I can't," he sobbed. "My legs... they hurt…"
However, they used all they strength to keep running. But Vin cannot keep up with that, while Nuong was running before him she didn't notice the little boy fell on the ground and when she turn back…
A black SUV swung into view, flanked by a sleeker silver car. The headlights blinded her. Doors slammed. Boots hit the pavement.
Two men approached.
The first one, Piseth, looked carved from marble—impossibly clean and severe in his tailored black suit, his face unreadable under the dim glow of the streetlights. He walked with a purpose that made the world feel smaller, colder.
The second, Pisal, moved with the grace of a protector. His blue suit was dusted from the wind, but his expression was calm and precise as his eyes scanned the scene.
They said nothing.
Without a word, Pisal bent down, gently lifted Vin into his arms. The boy whimpered, but didn't resist. Piseth opened the back door, and Pisal slid him inside.
Then they left.
Just like that.
No questions. No accusations. No promises.
Just the weight of judgment in Piseth's glare as the car drove past Nuong, her knees sinking to the ground.
She watched the taillights vanish into the dark.
And all she could do was whisper, brokenly, "I'm sorry…"
Her knees stung from the fall. Her chest heaved. But Nuong didn't stop.
As the SUV's red lights disappeared down the road, something inside her snapped—fear, guilt, love—all tangled into one unbearable knot.
"Wait!" she cried, scrambling to her feet.
She ran. She didn't know where the strength came from—maybe it was the thought of Vin, lying alone in a stranger's car. Maybe it was the echo of his tiny voice, gasping for air, saying, I can't.
She had to do something. Anything.
The road curved. She turned with it. The night air whipped through her hair, blurring her vision. Her legs ached, her sandals slapping uselessly against the pavement. But she kept going.
She couldn't lose him. Not like this.
In the car…
Pisal was driving, and Piseth was sitting there on the backseat with Vin; the boy was so scared and he crying louder and louder. "Just tell us, when do you guys take my sister to?" Piseth asked the boy, but he couldn't think of anything except crying.
Then the younger brother, Pisal, added, "Bong, you should talk gently with the kid. If you shout at him, he will get scared!".
"I don't know how to speak sweet words!" Piseth replied.
"I think we lost the track now! What should we do?"
"Let's go back to the mansion! Now we have the boy, they will come and find him."
"OK, otherwise, the police are on their way now."
The mansion gates came into view—metal bars tall as trees, wrapped in black iron vines. The same ones she'd lied her way through earlier that day.
And just beyond them, the car.
It had stopped.
They were home.
Nuong's voice cracked. "Please! Please stop!"
The guards turned in alarm. Someone pointed. The headlights snapped on again—blinding white in the darkness.
She didn't care.
She slammed her fists on the gate. "Let me see him! The boy—you have to let him go!"
The gate creaked open halfway.
Before she could get inside, a strong hand gripped her arm.
"Who are you?" Piseth's voice was cold. Controlled.
His black suit caught the light, making him look more like a shadow than a man.
"I—" Nuong gasped. "My name is Nuong. That boy—he's not part of this. He followed me. I didn't know—please, he's just a kid!"
"You brought him into this," Piseth said, eyes narrowing. "And now you want him out?"
Nuong choked on a sob. "He's from the orphanage. I—I only joined because I needed the money for a sick girl. I didn't know what they were planning. They didn't tell me!"
Silence.
Then footsteps.
Pisal approached from behind his brother. The blue of his suit was faint under the porch light. His gaze was gentler—but no less guarded.
"Vin's asleep," Pisal said softly. "We gave him water and food. He's unharmed."
Nuong's knees buckled.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her heart.
"I'll help you," she whispered. "I'll help you find your sister. Just don't hurt him. Don't punish him for what I did."
Piseth's stare lingered a little longer, like he was reading every secret off her face.
Then he turned.
"We'll talk inside."
He grabbed her hand and led her inside the house. But, with his little strength, it's already painful for this 16-year-old girl. Her wrist felt the hot temper of his body and the pressure he put on her like she was his prey now, and there's no way to get out. Never.
How could a noble, handsome man be this cruel? Or is it because she had touched his beloved one to deserve this treatment?