Someone whistled dramatically as if the entire situation were a performance meant to entertain the street.
But Nia did not laugh.
The number meant nothing to her.
It was simply another way of reminding her that she didn’t belong in their world.
“I can’t,” she said quietly.
The man holding the camera leaned closer.
“Say that again.”
“I can’t,” she repeated.
Nia tried to walk away, but the group shifted slightly, forming a loose circle around her. The movement wasn’t aggressive enough to call dangerous, yet it was just enough to make leaving feel impossible.
Adrian tilted his head.
“Then walk away,” he said casually. “But imagine how that’ll look on video.”
Nia’s hands began to tremble.
She understood very well how quickly a moment like this could spiral into trouble for someone like her.
After a long pause, she spoke again.
“If I look at it,” she said softly, “you stop talking.”
The men blinked.
“No jokes. No filming in my face. If you talk, I stop.”
Adrian glanced around at the growing crowd gathering along the sidewalk. The situation had already attracted attention, and he clearly wanted to appear confident.
“Fine,” he said with a grin. “You get one minute.”
For illustrative purposes only
Looking Under the Hood
Nia walked toward the car slowly.
A small wooden stool sat nearby, likely left behind by a mechanic earlier in the day, so she dragged it closer to the open hood and climbed up carefully to reach the engine.
Her sleeve brushed the polished metal, and she instinctively flinched, as if expecting someone to shout at her for touching something expensive.
No one did.
Instead, she leaned forward and listened carefully.
Adrian had tried the key earlier, and she remembered the weak clicking sound the engine made. That kind of noise usually meant the power wasn’t reaching the engine properly.
Her eyes moved toward the battery.
One cable looked slightly loose.
It wasn’t obvious unless you knew what you were looking for, but the clamp had shifted just enough to break the electrical connection.
Behind her someone snickered.
“She thinks she’s a mechanic.”
Nia stiffened but kept working.
“Please stop,” she said quietly.
The laughter faded just enough for her to concentrate.
She pulled a bent hairpin from her hair and used it carefully to push the cable clamp back into place. Then she wrapped her sleeve around her hand and tightened the connection as firmly as she could.
Her arms trembled—not only from the effort, but from the fear that even if she fixed the problem, they might still accuse her of damaging the car.
Finally she stepped back from the engine.
“Start it,” she said quietly.
“And don’t press the gas.”
Adrian hesitated before turning the key.
The engine started instantly.
Smooth.
Quiet.
Perfect.
The car purred as though nothing had ever been wrong.
For illustrative purposes only
Silence on the Street
For several seconds no one spoke.
The three men who had been laughing earlier stared at the running engine with stunned expressions.
Their phones slowly lowered.
Nia climbed down from the stool, grabbed her plastic bag, and stepped backward as though preparing to leave quickly before the situation changed again.
Adrian looked at the car.
Then he looked at her.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
“Did someone teach you?”
