The first alarm—a cheerful bird song—was quickly silenced by Chole Miller's sleepy hand. She didn't even open her eyes. Two minutes later, a louder buzzing came from her nightstand. She swatted at it, still too tired to care. It was the third alarm, a sharp and harsh sound, that finally made her groan and open her eyes.
A soft grey light peeked through the curtains. The city outside was still quiet. But inside, Chole's body ached all over. She had worked a double shift at the bookstore yesterday and stayed up late baking for her dream cafe.
Her apartment was tiny—just one room with a small kitchen and bathroom—but it was hers. Every piece of secondhand furniture showed how far she had come. Above her desk was a corkboard, holding a sketch of a cozy cafe, coffee cup drawings, and budgeting notes. She had named it The Daily Grind. It fit her life perfectly.
She got ready fast. A cold shower woke her up. She tied her hair in a ponytail, wore her plain barista uniform, and grabbed a protein bar with a mug of old tea. No time for anything fancy.
By 5:30 AM, she was on the bus. The streets were still dark and mostly empty. The engine hummed, and a few sleepy passengers sat in silence. This was her world—early mornings, late nights, and nonstop work for a dream that still felt far away.
Her phone buzzed. It was her mother. Chole's jaw tightened. She didn't answer—just texted: "Busy. Call later." But she knew she wouldn't call back. Her family brought more stress than comfort. The cafe wasn't just a dream; it was her escape.
She reached The Morning Brew, a busy coffee shop downtown. The smell of coffee and pastries filled the air. Mark, her cheerful co-worker, waved from behind the espresso machine.
"Morning, Chole! You look like you fought a bear and lost."
She gave a tired smile. "Just lost to my alarm clock."
She got behind the counter and started working—making coffee, steaming milk, smiling at customers. She was fast, focused, and quiet. No one saw how tired she was. They just saw the coffee.
By 10 AM, the rush was over. Her feet hurt, and the counter was messy.
"You're free!" Mark said. "Go get some rest!"
"I will," she replied, though she knew she had to head straight to the library for her second job.
Outside, the city was fully awake. Cars honked. People rushed past. The sunlight bounced off glass buildings. She checked the bus times on her phone and had a little time to grab lunch from a street vendor.
As she walked, she thought about her dream cafe. She had found a possible location last week, but rent was too high. Maybe she could take another shift?
The thought made her tired. But then she pictured the soft lights, the smell of fresh pastries, and people laughing inside her cafe. That dream gave her energy.
The sky had turned overcast by the time she reached the next corner. Thick clouds rolled in fast, and soon, fat drops of rain began to fall, pattering against the pavement. Chole pulled her hood up and hurried toward the intersection. The streets reflected the city lights in streaks of gold and red as water pooled across the crosswalk.
Traffic slowed, but the rain made the roads slick. She stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the light to turn, the cold drops soaking into her sleeves.
Then it happened.
A loud screech tore through the storm. Chole looked up sharply.
A black car came flying through the red light, tires slipping wildly on the wet road. A delivery van tried to swerve, its wheels skidding—but it wasn't fast enough. The two vehicles collided with a sickening crash. The van slammed into a pole. The black car spun out, slammed into a divider, and shattered on impact.
People screamed and scattered, their umbrellas flipping in the wind. But Chole didn't move.
Rain poured harder. She smelled gasoline. Smoke curled upward, mixing with the falling rain.
Then she saw him.
Through the broken windshield of the black car, a man in a suit was slumped against the steering wheel. His dark hair was soaked and messy, blood trickling down one side of his face. He looked out of place—still, pale, like a statue in the middle of chaos.
"Back up!" someone shouted. "It's going to explode!"
Flames sparked near the engine. The smell of fuel thickened.
Chole didn't think. She ran.
The driver's side was crushed. She yanked at the door, but it wouldn't open. Smoke and rain stung her eyes. She coughed, then rushed to the other side. That door gave way with effort.
"Sir!" she shouted. No answer.
He was heavy. His suit was soaked and slick. She wrapped her arms under his and pulled. Inch by inch, she dragged him out into the rain.
Just as they reached the edge of the street, the car exploded behind them in a fireball. The blast knocked her down. She instinctively covered the man's head with her arms as fiery debris rained down around them. Heat and rain hit her skin all at once.
The world went quiet for a second. All she could hear was her heartbeat—and the heavy rain.
When she sat up, shaking and gasping, her sleeves were burned through in places. Her arms stung, raw and aching. But the man was breathing, faint and shallow.
Sirens echoed through the streets, getting closer.
A paramedic ran up. "Are you okay?"
She nodded slowly. "He… he was unconscious."
"You saved his life," the paramedic said, already checking the man's pulse.
They lifted him onto a stretcher. Just before they wheeled him away, his eyes opened for a second. He looked at Chole—really looked. There was something in his eyes. Then they closed again.
He was gone.
Chole sat still on the wet pavement, her body shaking. No one was paying attention to her now. The rain kept falling. Smoke mixed with it, rising from the wreck.
Her arms burned, sore from pulling him and shielding him from the blast. Her whole body throbbed.
She didn't want questions. Didn't want to be noticed.
Quietly, she pushed herself up. Limping slightly, she walked away—out of the flashing lights, past the shouting voices, into the quiet shadows of the alley beyond.
She didn't know his name. She didn't expect to see him again.