It was nearly 3 a.m., and the streets were empty as I sat in the back of a taxi heading home. The driver barely spoke, but every so often, I caught him glancing at me in the rearview mirror. By the time we pulled up to my building, unease had already settled deep in my chest. I paid quickly, stepped out, and rushed toward the entrance. But just as I reached the stairwell, I heard footsteps behind me. When I turned, my blood ran cold — it was the driver. Alone in a dimly lit stairwell, I could feel panic take over.
My legs carried me faster and faster up the stairs, my pulse thundering in my ears. The sound of his shoes echoed against the concrete, each step closer than the last. I stumbled on the fifth floor but forced myself onward, my mind spiraling with fear. By the seventh floor, I could hear him breathing heavily, almost right behind me. Summoning every ounce of courage, I spun around, prepared to scream — only to see him holding something out in his hands.
In the driver’s grasp was my wallet. “You dropped this when you got out of the cab,” he said between ragged breaths, offering it carefully. For a moment, I couldn’t even respond — relief and shame flooded me all at once. Inside the wallet were my ID, cards, and even my spare apartment key. Losing it could have caused chaos, yet here was the man I had feared most, simply trying to return it. My cheeks burned as I stammered out a thank-you and an apology.
The driver smiled softly, nodded, and began his descent back down the stairwell, leaving me in stunned silence. I clutched my wallet to my chest, my heart still racing, realizing how quickly fear can twist reality into something darker. That night taught me a powerful lesson: not every late-night encounter hides danger, and sometimes the people we fear most are the very ones looking out for us.