When I Heard a Young Woman Say “그만해. 나 줘.” On My Quiet Sidewalk...

For several seconds after the men backed away, nobody moved.

I kept both hands around my bag. The strap had cut into my fingers, but I didn't loosen them. The young woman stood between me and the men with one palm raised, her dark hair shifting in the evening breeze. She didn't look back at me. She watched the four of them as if she were waiting to see which choice they would make.

One man muttered something I couldn't hear. Another glanced down the street.

The young woman lowered her hand only after they began to separate. Even then, she didn't turn toward me too quickly.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

I shook my head.

It was the first answer I gave her. My voice felt locked somewhere behind my teeth.

She nodded once, accepting it without trying to inspect me. “Do you want me to call someone?”

I shook my head again.

“Okay.” She looked toward the corner, then back at me. “I can walk you somewhere. Or I can leave. You can choose.”

The word stayed with me.

Choose.

The men were still visible at the far end of the block. They hadn't gone far enough for me to believe the sidewalk belonged to me again. I looked toward the diner sign glowing across the next intersection. Its windows were bright, and people sat inside beneath ordinary yellow lights. Someone lifted a coffee cup. Someone else leaned over a plate.

“The diner,” I said. My voice came out thin. “It's open.”

“Then we'll go there,” she said. “If that's what you want.”

We walked without touching. She kept half a step behind me, not beside me, leaving enough space that I wouldn't feel cornered. The bag rested against my hip. Every few steps, I checked it with my fingertips. The zipper was closed. The weight inside hadn't changed.

At the crosswalk, I stopped before the signal changed. A car rolled through the intersection, tires whispering over damp pavement. My right hand trembled once. I pressed it against the bag until the shaking passed.

The woman noticed. She didn't comment.

Inside the diner, the air smelled like coffee, toast, and the sharp sweetness of disinfectant. A server pointed us toward a booth near the front window. I chose the seat with a view of the door. I put my bag beside me, tucked against the wall, and kept one hand on its strap.

The young woman sat across from me.

“I’m Mina,” she said after the server brought two glasses of water. “Mina Park.”

I studied her face. She looked younger than me by many years, but not careless. Her expression had settled into something patient and alert.

I gave her only my first name.

“Eun-sook.”

She repeated it softly, making sure she had heard correctly. She didn't ask for my last name.

The server left menus. I opened mine without reading.

Mina folded her hands on the table. “You don't have to tell me what happened. I mean that. If you want to sit here for a while, I can sit here too. If you want me gone, I'll go.”

I looked through the window. The street appeared calm again. That calm frightened me more than the shouting had. It made the whole thing seem like something I might have imagined.

“My home is close,” I said.

“Do you want me to walk you there?”

“No.”

She accepted that too. “Then I'll wait until you feel ready to leave.”

My phone vibrated inside my coat.

The number on the screen was unfamiliar.

I opened the message.

DON’T MAKE THIS HARDER.

No name. No explanation.

The diner seemed to tilt, though nothing around me moved. I turned the phone face down and placed my palm over it.

Mina saw my expression. “Was it someone you know?”

I looked at her, then at the bag beside me.