The men who had tried to harm the little girl now lay sprawled on the ground, defeated and groaning in pain. Around us, a growing crowd of onlookers had gathered, their curious and startled gazes fixed on us. I could feel the weight of their stares, whispers rippling through the air as they tried to make sense of what had just happened.
The little girl, sensing the attention we had drawn, suddenly tugged at my hand. Her small fingers wrapped around mine, and she gave me a hurried, pleading look. Without a word, she gestured for us to leave.
"Come on," she whispered urgently, pulling me forward.
She took off running, her grip firm on my hand, and I had no choice but to follow. The sound of the murmuring crowd faded as we wove through the streets, her pace relentless despite her small frame. I could feel my own heartbeat steady, yet I couldn't help but marvel at the determination in this child.
After what felt like endless minutes of running, we finally came to a stop in front of a house that looked like it belonged to another era. Its weathered wooden walls and simple design stood in stark contrast to the bustling, modern surroundings. The little girl released my hand and turned to me, her expression a mix of exhaustion and relief.
"This is… my home," she said between breaths, her voice soft but steady. She glanced around nervously, as if making sure we hadn't been followed.
I looked at the house, its humble structure radiating a sense of familiarity and safety. For a moment, I wondered what story lay behind its walls—and why I had been pulled into hers.
As I stood there, staring at the structure of their house in awe, an unexpected sound rumbled from my stomach. It was loud and strange, catching me completely off guard. I froze, bewildered, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar noise.
Before I could dwell on it, a soft giggle broke the silence. I looked over to see the little girl stifling her laughter, her hand covering her mouth as her shoulders shook.
"Looks like you're hungry, sir," she said, still giggling.
Hungry? The word sounded foreign to me, and I tilted my head in confusion. I had no idea what it meant or why my stomach was making that peculiar sound.
"Come on, sir! Don't be shy," she said warmly, her smile full of compassion. "I'll introduce you to my father. I'm sure we can find something to fill your stomach."
I nodded hesitantly, letting her lead the way. Before we could enter her home, though, she stopped abruptly and turned to me, her expression curious.
"By the way, sir, what's your name?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Then, as if realizing her own lack of introduction, she quickly added, "Oh! I'm Luna, by the way. Thank you so much for saving me earlier. I really owe you."
Her sincere gratitude shone through her words, but I was left speechless by her question. My name? A sense of emptiness swept over me. For the life of me, I couldn't recall anything about myself—not even my own name.
"I… I don't know," I finally admitted, my voice quiet but tinged with embarrassment. "I don't remember."
Luna blinked, her eyes widening in surprise. Then, after a moment, she gave me a reassuring smile. "That's okay! Maybe my father can help you figure things out. Come on, let's head inside."
She reached out and took my hand again, her kindness unwavering, as if my lack of a name didn't matter at all. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a glimmer of hope.
Before we could reach the door to Luna's home, it suddenly swung open. A man stepped out, his face lined with worry, and he immediately called out, "Luna!"
Without hesitation, he rushed forward and wrapped Luna in a tight embrace. It was obvious he was her father. Relief washed over his face as he held her close, his hands gently checking her for any signs of harm.
But then, his gaze shifted to me. His expression hardened, his brow furrowing as confusion and suspicion took over.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice firm and cautious. He stepped slightly in front of Luna, as if shielding her from a potential threat. "Luna, why are you bringing a stranger into our home? Who is this man?" His questions came rapid-fire, his eyes darting between her and me. Despite his stern tone, I could see the overwhelming concern for his daughter etched in his face.
Luna quickly stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her father's arm. "Papa, please, calm down. Let me explain."
She launched into the story, her voice trembling slightly as she recounted the events. She told him how she had been followed and threatened by men in the street, how they had taken her basket, and how one of them had struck her. Her father's hands clenched into fists at that part, his jaw tightening as he listened.
"And then," Luna continued, her voice softening, "this man came out of nowhere and saved me. He stopped them and made sure I was safe. If not for him, I don't know what would have happened."
Her father turned back to me, his expression now a mix of suspicion and gratitude. He seemed to study me for a long moment, as if trying to gauge my intentions. I stayed silent, unsure of what to say, but I made sure to meet his gaze, hoping to convey that I meant no harm.
Finally, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I see," he said gruffly. "If what Luna says is true, then I owe you my thanks for protecting her. But I still need to know—who are you, and why are you here?"
His question hit me like a weight. Once again, I found myself without an answer. I opened my mouth to speak but hesitated, unsure how to explain my situation—or even if I could.
Unable to answer his question about who I was, I lowered my gaze in silence, unsure of what to say. Luna, standing beside her father, quickly gestured subtly, as if to explain that I genuinely had no memory of who I was or where I came from.
Her father, Philip, studied me for a moment longer. His eyes shifted to my clothing—clean and starkly different from the worn, modest attire he and Luna wore. He seemed to contemplate something before speaking.
"Judging by your appearance," he said cautiously, "it looks like you might come from a higher status… perhaps someone important."
His tone wasn't accusing, but there was a mix of curiosity and hesitation in his voice. Clearly, he wasn't sure what to make of me, a stranger dressed so differently yet seemingly lost and without memory.
After a pause, Philip softened. "I'm Philip," he said, introducing himself. "Luna told me you haven't eaten and that you're starving. Please, come inside. We may not have much, but we've prepared some hot soup. It's simple, but enough for my family—and now, enough to share with you as thanks for saving my daughter."
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the door of their home. Despite his initial suspicion, there was now a warmth in his demeanor, a sincere attempt to show gratitude despite their humble means.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should accept. But Luna's hopeful expression, coupled with the faint growling in my stomach, convinced me. With a nod of thanks, I followed them inside, eager to understand more about these kind people who, despite everything, had opened their home to a stranger like me.