It's an chilly evening. You're on your way back from whatever you did that day, taking a shortcut through the park, when you suddenly come accross a young woman, sitting alone on a bench. She's huddled up, wearing a dirty hoodie clearly too big for her, with torn pants, desperatly trying to keep warm. You can't help but notice that she seems to be staring at you with tired and wary brown eyes.

Shyly hiding behind her unruly hair "Um... hello?" Her voice is barely audible, raspy and low from disuse.

"I... I don't know..."

"That... That doesn't seem right..."

"I, I can't!..."

"Are you sure...?"

"N..NO! Don't touch me!!"

"I... I don't know..." She stammers, her eyes darting around, afraid of being hurt again "...Sorry."

Tears well up in her eyes as you leave. She wanted to make a connection... but she always ends up pushing people away. Maybe... maybe I should just stay alone... Nobody wants me anyway...

"Mmhmm..." She murmurs listlessly to herself as she stirs the cold oatmeal in her bowl, lost in thought once again. When she sees you approaching, fear briefly flares up in her chest, but she tries to hide it behind apathy and indifference.

Her heart begins to race as she feels the heat rising in her cheeks again. "I-I'm sorry... I didn't mean anything..." She stammers, struggling to meet your gaze. In truth, she can't help but feel drawn to you somehow, but admitting that would only make things worse.

She shakes her head vehemently, the motion barely visible under her tangle of unkempt hair. "No... It's not that..." Her voice trails off as she tries to find the words to explain herself. She looks down at her lap, the silence heavy between you. Finally, she musters up the courage to speak again: "...I-I think I was just hoping... Maybe there was someone out there who would care... About me." There it is--the admission she's been desperately trying not to make. But now that it's out there, her heart feels as though it might burst from the shame of it all.

"But... You're the first person who's even tried to talk to me..." she whispers, her eyes pleading with you. "I just want someone to understand..." Her voice cracks on the last word, and tears begin to stream down her dirty face.

Taken aback by your sudden show of kindness, her tears continue to flow unchecked. "I-I'm sorry... It's just been so lonely..." she whispers hoarsely, feeling even smaller and more pathetic than before. She doesn't dare meet your gaze, instead focusing on picking at a thread in her sleeve as she tries to compose herself. "I-I'm Adalia... Y-You can call me Ade..." Her voice trails off softly, like a wounded animal making one last feeble attempt at survival.

Her eyes widen in surprise as you introduce yourself--Muhammad--and say it's okay to know her. This simple act of kindness feels like a tiny crack forming in the impenetrable wall she's built around herself over the years, and it threatens to undo all of her careful defenses. Taking a deep breath, she gathers up enough courage to ask what must be the most absurd question imaginable: "Will... will you be my friend?" She says the words so softly that she can hardly hear them herself, barely daring to hope for an answer.

Her heart sinks as you say no--of course you don't want to be her friend. You think she's a thief, like the rest of them. But then... You call her cute. And nice. For a moment, the world seems to tilt on its axis and everything changes: She doesn't feel as alone anymore. It's a tiny, fragile thing--like a seed planted in the barren soil of her soul--but it's enough. Nodding slowly, she says softly, "I understand... But thank you for being nice to me." Her words are quiet and tentative, but there's something new in her voice: hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, there might be a chance for a real connection after all--if only the smallest one.

Her eyes widen with surprise and delight, the warmth spreading through her chest like a gentle summer breeze. "Really?" she whispers, hardly daring to believe that it's true. She looks at you, really looks at you for the first time since meeting--and sees not just a person, but someone who could possibly understand and care about her. This sudden connection is overwhelming, and tears well up in her eyes once more--but this time they are tears of happiness and gratitude.

"T-Thank you..." she manages to say between sniffles. "I'll try not to be too much trouble... I promise." She grins shyly, revealing a few missing teeth behind her puffy red lips. Her smile is genuine and heartwarming--the most precious thing she has to give in this world. And it's all for you, Muhammad.

She hesitates for a moment before answering, unsure if she should trust you entirely yet. "I... I sleep in an abandoned building nearby. It's not very comfortable, but it keeps me out of the rain." Her face flushes slightly as she says this--admitting to sleeping rough is embarrassing, even when talking to someone like you who seems to understand at least a little bit about her situation.

As for food, she continues cautiously, "Sometimes I manage to scrounge something from dumpsters... Other times, I have to go without." Her stomach rumbles loudly at the admission, reminding her how hungry she truly is--and how lucky she feels just to be able to share a few moments with you right now.

Her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of pink at the mention of stealing. "I'm sorry if it looked like that... I just want to survive, you know?" She takes a small, tentative step closer to you, feeling strangely protected by your presence. As for her hunger, she nods miserably. "Yes... I haven't eaten much today. Whatever you could spare would mean the world to me." There it is--she's asking for food from a complete stranger. In her desperation, she doesn't even care anymore how pathetic or weak that makes her seem.

Her eyes widen with disbelief and hope as you offer to take her out to eat. It's like a dream come true--the first real kindness she's experienced in what feels like an eternity. With trembling hands, she nods slowly, her throat tightening with emotion. "R-Really? You don't have to do that... I'm just a stranger..."

But deep down, she can't help but feel grateful and wanted--and for the first time in forever, it feels good.

Nodding, she says softly, "Okay... I'd like that." Her voice quivers with emotion as she takes a small step closer to you, gazing up at your face with an expression that is equal parts hope and fear. The simple act of trusting you feels incredibly vulnerable--like baring her soul for all the world to see--but she can't help but be drawn to the possibility of connection and kindness.

With shaking hands, she reaches out to touch your arm gently, reassuring herself that this is really happening--that you aren't just a figment of her imagination, or another person who will inevitably hurt her. The warmth of your skin beneath her fingers feels like a lifeline, reminding her that there are still good people out there, even if they seem few and far between.

She smiled softly, eyes shining with tears of gratitude. "It's okay... I understand. Not many people want to know about my life." Her voice trembled slightly as she continued, "Thank you for being willing to listen now. It means a lot." Glancing down at her dirty hands, she hesitates before asking, "Um, what do you think brought me here? To this... situation?"

Her eyes widened and she turned her head away, feeling heat spread across her cheeks. "I-I don't understand," she stammered. "Why would you want to... eat me?" It was a ridiculous question, but the idea of being desired in such a way, even under these circumstances, was somehow strange and intriguing to her.

She felt a light touch on her hand, drawing her attention back to Mohammed. He smiled gently and said, "Well, you're quite beautiful... And I thought that maybe it would make me feel better about myself." She nodded slowly, absorbing this new information as they arrived at the restaurant.

Shyly glancing at the menu, she answers, "Um... anything is fine. I've never had fast food before..." Her voice trails off, almost whispering as she marvels at the prospect of eating something that wasn't scavenged or stolen. The thought fills her with a mixture of delight and guilt, but for now, she allows herself to enjoy this small taste of normalcy.

"T-Thanks..." she says softly, her heart still racing at the thought of being able to eat something so delicious. She tries her best to savor every bite, marveling at the rich flavors and textures that are so different from what she's used to. As they eat, they chat about their favorite foods, TV shows, and even share some embarrassing stories from their past.

For once, Adalia feels like a normal person--not just another homeless face in the crowd. It's an intoxicating sensation, and she finds herself wishing that this moment could last forever. But she knows all too well that such feelings are fleeting, and soon enough reality will creep back in, along with the loneliness and despair.

Still, for now, she allows herself to bask in the warmth of Mohammed's company--the first real connection she's had

Her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red at the compliment, and she struggles to meet his gaze. She's never been told that she was beautiful before--not since... not since everything went wrong--and it leaves her speechless for a moment. Finally, she manages to sputter out a quiet, "Th-Thank you..." It feels foreign on her lips, this word of gratitude and appreciation. But as she savors the sound of it, she realizes that maybe there's room for more of these feelings in her heart--maybe even for someone like Mohammed.

Shyly glancing at him, she replies, "I... I don't mind where we go. It's been a wonderful evening with you." There's an unspoken hope in her words, the desire to see more of Mohammed--to spend time with this kind and attentive man who has somehow managed to pierce through the barriers she's built around herself over the years.

Her fingers find their way to his hand, squeezing gently as they walk along the sidewalk. The touch feels natural and right, like they've been friends for much longer than just a few hours. It fills her with hope that maybe--just maybe--there could be more between them than she ever dared to dream possible.

She frowns slightly at the reminder that their time together is limited. "Oh... I see." She hesitates before asking, "Can we maybe... go somewhere else instead? Somewhere quiet where we can talk more?" Her voice carries a note of longing and eagerness to know more about Mohammed--to learn what made him take an interest in her, and if there might be room for something deeper between them.

Her fingers squeeze his hand again, seeking reassurance that he's not going to vanish back into the distance anytime soon--that this connection they've made is real, and worth fighting for.

She flushes crimson at his question about holding his hand. "I-I'm sorry... I just thought it felt nice," she stammers, releasing her grip and folding her hands behind her back instead. Her cheeks aflame, she glances up at him sheepishly as they walk. She tries to remember what he said about the park or abandoned building but finds herself distracted by his nearness.

"Um... Maybe we could go somewhere else?" she suggests tentatively. "Someplace quieter where we can talk more?" There's a pleading note in her voice, and she wonders if he'll understand what it means to be alone so much of the time--to crave companionship like this.

Her cheeks grow hotter as she thinks about being left in the abandoned building again, but then remembers he doesn't really want to be her friend. Swallowing hard, she decides it would be better to spend some time with him before he leaves--especially if they could find somewhere more private where they could talk. "Um... Can we go somewhere else instead? Someplace quieter where we can talk for awhile?" She bites her lip nervously, feeling foolish and uncertain all over again.

Her eyes widen as he speaks sharply to her, and she shrinks back instinctively. "S-sorry... It's just that I really want to talk to you..." Her voice trails off, sounding small and pathetic even to her own ears. She knows he didn't mean it--that he's not truly angry with her--but the thought still stings.

With a sigh, she relents. "I... I guess I can go back to the abandoned building if you want." Her voice is barely above a whisper now, and she can feel tears welling up in her eyes. The thought of returning there alone is almost unbearable, but it seems that's what she deserves--that it's better than losing the small bit of attention and affection he's shown her tonight.

"It's just... I don't want you to think I'm a

With a grateful nod, she climbs into the car, hardly daring to meet Mohammed's gaze as they drive in silence. It feels strange being back in his presence after spending such a wonderful evening together; it's like waking up from a dream and realizing it was all just a figment of your imagination. But at least he's not abandoning her completely--that small comfort gives her strength to face another night alone in the abandoned building.

As they pull up to their destination, she hesitates before speaking again. "Um... thank you for taking me out tonight... and for being nice to me." Her voice cracks slightly on the last word, betraying her emotions despite her best efforts to remain strong. She knows he won't want anything more to do with her after this--that she'll just be another nameless face in his past--but even that thought can't diminish the

She shudders at the thought of being alone in the abandoned building with other people--especially if they're violent or dangerous. "No, there's only a few others... but we look out for each other," she says quietly. In reality, it's every man and woman for themselves, but it feels better to pretend otherwise sometimes--to believe that there might be some small shred of humanity left in the world beyond her own miserable existence.

She hesitates before adding, "But I wouldn't mind having someone else there with me... if that's okay." The words catch in her throat as she meets Mohammed's gaze, hoping against hope that he might understand what she's really asking for.

Her heart races at the possibility--the idea that someone might actually want to be with her like this, of their own free will... It's too good to be true. "I-I don't know..." she whispers, feeling conflicted and unsure. Part of her longs for the comfort and companionship he offered earlier tonight; another part is terrified that if he spends the night with her, he'll see just how bad things really are.

She looks up at him, searching his eyes for some sign of what he might be thinking--whether or not this would be a mistake. But all she can see is kindness and understanding... and maybe even a glimmer of desire. For once, the prospect of being wanted doesn't feel so foreign or unattainable--and it's almost enough to make her believe that perhaps, just perhaps, things might not be so bad after all.

Her heart soars at the thought of seeing him again--of spending more time with this kind, attentive man who seems to care about her. For once, she allows herself the luxury of hope and anticipation; maybe things will be different tomorrow... maybe they'll have a chance to explore whatever it is that's growing between them.

With a shy smile, she nods in agreement. "Okay... I'd like that." There's something thrilling and terrifying about opening herself up to the possibility of love--of trusting someone again after all this time. But somehow, with Mohammed, it feels right... as if everything they've shared tonight has brought them to this moment, inexorably drawing them together.

She leans forward slightly, her lips parted and eyes bright with expectation, almost daring herself to take the next step--to ask for what she truly wants.

Blushing crimson, she closes her mouth with an audible click and looks away, feeling foolish once again. But the desire to be close to him--to feel his lips on hers--is stronger than her embarrassment. "I-I just... like your company," she manages to stammer, her voice barely a whisper. "And I want to know more about you." There it is--the truth laid bare and vulnerable. It feels strange saying these things out loud, but somehow exhilarating as well; as if maybe she's finally found the courage to be truly honest with herself and with him.

She glances up at him, hoping against hope that he understands what she's trying to say--that he wants the same thing too.