The city at night felt like a creature.Breathing. Watching. Waiting.
Its heart was the traffic —cars rushing like blood through glowing veins.Its voice was the chatter of strangers and the distant rise-and-fall of sirens.Its eyes were the windows of tall buildings, glittering like they knew everyone's secrets.
And somewhere inside that restless, humming beast…walked Amara Mwila.
Sixteen.Shoulders tight.Head down.Like someone trying to take up as little space in the world as possible.
Her hoodie was faded, the ends of the sleeves frayed —she kept pulling the loose threads whenever she felt nervous,and tonight she'd pulled so many, the fabric looked like spiderwebs hanging off her wrists.
The sky above her wasn't dark —it was bruised purple from the city lights.Nothing in this city ever truly slept.Even the shadows felt wide awake.
Amara kicked a bottle cap on the pavement and watched it skitter away.Her steps were slow, almost heavy, like she was dragging something invisible behind her.
Maybe she was.
People passed her —a man arguing on his phone,a couple laughing too loudly,a taxi driver honking at a reckless cyclist —but none of them really saw her.
She was the kind of girl the world walked pastwithout realizing she was disappearing.
But Amara didn't mind that.Not anymore.Being unseen felt safer.
She cut through an alley — the one her mother always told her to avoid —but it was shorter, and her legs were already tired.Trash bins lined the walls like silent guards.A cat hissed at her from a corner.
"Same to you," she muttered under her breath,forcing a half-smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Truth was…she wasn't afraid of alleys.She wasn't afraid of the dark.She was afraid of herself.
Of the girl she used to be.Of the mistakes she tried to pretend didn't still echo loud in her chest.Of the choices she wished she could erase.
And the worst part?
She didn't even know if God would want her back after everything.
She used to believe —really believe —that He saw her.He cared.He heard her when she cried into her pillow.
But something had happened months ago.Something that cracked her faith so deeply,she didn't know if it could ever be pieced together again.
People said the city had a heartbeat.Tonight, she felt hers fading under it.
Amara reached the overpass — the old one with peeling posters and rusted railings.Cars zoomed beneath her feet, shaking the concrete.She leaned against the railing and looked down.
The city looked endless from up here.A world too big for one girl to matter.
She closed her eyes,letting the wind whip her braids across her face.
And then—
A whisper.Soft.Close.Like someone leaning into her ear.
"Turn back."
Amara's eyes flew open.She spun around so fast the world blurred for a second.
Nobody.
Just empty pavement,a flickering streetlamp,and a torn billboard dancing in the wind.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Hello?"Her voice came out shaky and small.
Nothing answered.
She swallowed hard and took a step backward.The air felt charged now —like static before lightning.Like the whole world was holding its breath.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She hesitated.Her fingers tingled.
She pulled it out.
Unknown number.
She tapped the message.
You're not alone.
Her heart thudded.Her eyes stung for reasons she couldn't explain.
She blinked —and the message vanished right off the screen.Gone.Deleted by someone who wasn't her.
Another message appeared.
I know you, Amara. And I know what's coming.
Her hands trembled.This wasn't normal.This wasn't safe.
Her throat tightened.She looked around again, fully expecting someone — something — to jump out.
But the street was empty.The night was cold.And her pulse was loud.
She typed back with shaky thumbs:
Who is this?
Three dots popped up.They blinked.Disappeared.Came back.Stopped.
Then:
Someone who's been trying to reach you.
Her breath caught.
Trying to reach her?For how long?Why?
She stepped back from the railing, ready to run —when another message arrived, this time different:
Jeremiah 29:11
Her eyebrows furrowed.A Bible verse?Now?
She whispered it under her breath,the words coming back to her from Sunday School memories:
"…For I know the plans I have for you…"
She didn't finish the rest.She couldn't.Her throat felt tight, swollen with emotion she didn't want to feel.
She blinked rapidly.No tears.Not here.Not now.
She shoved the phone into her pocket and started walking fast —almost jogging —her chest heavy,her breath uneven.
The whisper.The messages.The verse.
It all felt like the city itself was closing in on her,pushing her somewhere she didn't want to go.
Somewhere she wasn't ready to return to.
And yet…
Under all that fear,under all that confusion,something gentle stirred —like a candle flame flickering in her chest.
A warmth she hadn't felt in months.Maybe years.
She hated it.She wanted to ignore it.But she couldn't deny it.
Hope.The dangerous kind.
The kind that tries to drag you toward the lighteven when you think you belong in the shadows.
She took one last look over her shoulder.
Nothing.Just the city — humming, glowing, breathing.
But Amara didn't notice that far above her,on a rooftop across the street,a figure stood in the dark.
Watching her.Silent.Still.
And when she walked away,that figure whispered into the night:
"She's starting to hear me again."