Dylan approached the figure standing there, huddled against the wall of a building. The woman was curled up, her hands gripping her knees as if trying to protect herself from the cold, but also from something much heavier, invisible. There were no screams, just a heavy silence, almost suffocating. It was as if the world around her had stopped spinning, and all that was left was this image, this frozen scene.
At first, Dylan hesitated. After all, he wasn't the intrusive type. But something inside him, a mix of loneliness and empathy, pushed him to take the first step. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching for any sign of movement. Finally, he approached further, his boots echoing softly on the cobblestones.
"Excuse me..." his voice trembled slightly, as if those words themselves were a break, an intrusion into the silence. The woman jerked her head up suddenly, her eyes red and swollen from crying, locking onto his. For a moment, she seemed ready to flee, but then she froze.
Dylan didn't know what to do or say. He wasn't a therapist or an expert in emergencies, but his heart told him that this woman needed someone. All he knew was that he couldn't leave her there, alone in that empty street.
She slowly turned her face towards him, an expression of distrust marked by pain. Her long, disheveled hair obscured part of her face. She didn't look like a beggar, but more like someone shattered by an invisible suffering. Despite his small stature, Dylan felt inexplicably tall in the face of her distress. He was no longer the Dylan who had been rejected for his height, no longer the small, insignificant man. For the first time, he felt capable of something.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer this time.
She blinked, as if she had just woken up from a deep nightmare. Then, in a faint voice, she murmured, "No, I'm not okay..."
Dylan knelt to be at her level, not wanting to frighten her further. He wasn't sure what to do, but he knew ignoring her wasn't an option. "Do you want me to help you?"
She looked at him for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. Then, slowly, she nodded, as if accepting this small spark of kindness, but with immense caution. Dylan hesitantly extended a trembling hand toward her, but she took it. A simple contact, yet incredibly powerful. She stared into his eyes, searching for something she probably no longer found in herself: hope.
"What's your name?" Dylan tried to break the silence, attempting to help her emerge from the shadow of her mind. She hesitated, and then, finally, she answered in a barely audible whisper:
"Léa."
Her name echoed in Dylan's mind, and he felt something unexpected stir within him. He wasn't here to play the role of a savior, but to offer a bit of comfort to a broken soul. The way she pronounced her name conveyed such sadness that he struggled to hold back a wave of compassion that overwhelmed him.
"Léa, my name is Dylan." He paused, searching for his words. "Would you like me to help you get up?"
She slowly lifted her eyes toward him, a look as lost as his had been just moments before. "I... I don't even know where to start..." she whispered.
"You don't have to start anywhere." Dylan forced a smile, despite the lump in his throat. "If you want, I can take you to my place. You can rest for a bit."
She hesitated, and then, after a moment of silence, nodded. Dylan supported her to help her walk, a simple but significant gesture. His arms trembled slightly, but he couldn't afford to show that he was as uncertain as she was. He walked with her through the streets, each step seeming heavier than the last. The night was beginning to fall, and with it, an almost icy chill filled the air.
Once they arrived at his apartment, Dylan helped her settle onto the couch. His place was small, modest, but he'd never imagined anyone would seek refuge there one day. The woman, fragile and lost, seemed calmer now. She hadn't said a word since their arrival, collapsing into silence. Dylan busied himself making a hot drink, a simple yet soothing gesture.
When he returned with a steaming cup of tea, she lifted her eyes to him. Her eyes were filled with gratitude, but also deep melancholy. "Thank you..." she whispered softly. "I don't even know what happened to me..."
Dylan sat across from her, placing the cup on the table. "You don't have to explain anything to me. But if you want to talk, I'm here."
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if words were a burden too heavy to bear. Then, after a long pause, she spoke. "I left. I... I left my home, my life, everything."
Dylan listened in silence, respecting her need to share what weighed on her heart. He knew this wasn't the moment for questions, but he already understood one thing: Léa carried a heavy burden, one that didn't just rest on her shoulders, but on her entire soul. He didn't have the answers, but he knew one thing: he wanted to help her, in his own way, no matter how clumsy it might seem.
In that small room, in the midst of the falling night, Dylan felt his life had just taken a turn. He, the small man of 1.5 meters, had dared to reach out. And, for once, he didn't regret believing that he could make a difference.