Strangers

Eyes were always the hardest to face. Crowds of people, strangers, passed me as I waded through their masses, keeping my gaze to their blurring hair, clothes and smiles– anywhere but their eyes.

The day grew hotter as the hours ticked by, where the rush and excitement to escape school filled the summer air just about as potent as the scent of sweat. I hurried my steps, my black scuffed shoes beating against the dried concrete. This was like every other day, yet the ending of exams had somehow fuelled the eagerness of a Friday afternoon for students’ energy, despite the scorching weather; and definitely, I was no different.
Maybe that was why I had followed my friend without thought to drop her off and took the long way home. And I didn’t really mind that decision, having more time to stare off into the overly-blue sky with cicadas buzzing in the background of my thoughts– until now.

An old lady stood at the end of the road, struggling to close the trunk of her car. Despite the three-minute distance between me and her, I could see the wrinkles of her face deepening from being unable to reach the height of her opened truck, the overflowing bags sitting on the grass and her arm just falling short to reach the handle.

If I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t have stopped mid-step and hesitated. I wouldn’t have been staring and doing nothing; but running to give her a hand. But the air was now suffocating. My limbs tight and rigid, muscles unresponsive to human logic of helping others as long as it meant facing their eyes. Sweat oozed from the crevices of the hands and beaded on my nose, as time around me stopped with the decision before me, my fear grounding my feet to the burning concrete.
This inability to help others wasn’t from any mal-intent, yet it had stayed with me throughout my whole life. Every time on the edge of facing someone freezing seemed like a familiar reflex, piling weights of boulders onto my shoulders with every passing second. Two sides of a coin, comfortability and opportunity, fighting a battle with me in the middle; unmoving; unsure; and brimming with fear.

However, it seemed like time couldn’t just stand by and watch any longer. A boy, too tall for his junior uniform, came skidding across the path. He approached the struggling lady and with few words pulled the trunk down with the soft thud. The lady’s gratitude shone through her eyes and wide smile as she thanked the boy who soon walked off.

Just like that, the cogs in my legs began turning again. Disappointment squeezed my heart. My mind, still stuck in between the decisions I could’ve made, the possibilities that could’ve happened. Regret suddenly felt more heavier than the weight of the decision.

Sulking in my let-down, I didn’t seem to notice how close I’ve gotten to the lady. She held two bags in her hands, with three more still slouching against each other, making her way towards a steep driveway. I didn’t think. I didn’t give myself a chance; before grabbing the three remaining bags, one of my left and two on my right, and jogging my way beside the lady one step at a time. I looked into her eyes.

I saw her age through the creases in its corners, the blue-grey ring around her pupils and the emotions that beamed through. She was a person. Not a stranger.

And on the rest of the way home I was glad I’d walked the long way.

Writer – Stephanie Lin
Editor – Alvia Farooqui
Artist – Rufina Chan

–April 2025–