The First Signs of Trouble
Alba had always been the brave one — fearless, curious, and full of laughter that bounced off the old trees like echoes from another time. But that afternoon, something in her eyes changed.
We were following a narrow path through dense vines when I heard a sharp rustle, followed by a scream — Alba’s voice, but broken and terrified.
She’d slipped down a hidden embankment and twisted her leg badly. She tried to stand, but pain shot up her entire body.
“I can’t… Anna… help me,” she gasped.
My heart hammered. I was frozen. I had never seen Alba like that — vulnerable, hurt, afraid.
Anna’s Sprint
Anna didn’t hesitate.
She dropped her pack. “Stay with me,” she whispered to Alba, but then — without a second thought — she sprinted down the path toward the village, barefoot, calling out for help.
I watched her go, disappearing quickly into the amber dusk, her voice echoing back to us through the trees…
“Help! Please, someone! Emergency!”
Seconds felt like hours.
Why Toma’s Savagery Still Haunts Me
We had met Toma earlier that day — a local guide with wise eyes and a calm voice. He’d seemed trustworthy, but as the light faded, his behavior became unpredictable. When he tried to “help” by moving Alba without support, his grip was rough, desperate.
“You must be strong,” he said, but his eyes didn’t match his words.
Alba winced. Pain shot through her again, and that moment — that unexpected, unkind yank — changed everything. I still wonder now: was he afraid? Did he think urgency meant force?
We never got our answer. Because just then — like a beacon — we heard Anna’s voice, closer now. Louder. Determined.
Anna Returns — with Help
I saw her first before I heard her — a figure moving like fire through the shadows, not slowing, not stopping, not giving up.
Behind her came two villagers, lanterns swaying, calls on their lips — they had heard her cries and rushed to help.
Anna knelt beside Alba, her tears mixing with the dirt on her knees.
“It’s okay,” Anna whispered. “We’ve got help now.”
There was relief in Alba’s eyes — but also fear that didn’t fade that night.
Carrying More than a Friend
They lifted Alba onto a makeshift stretcher and began the slow walk back — through twisting roots, past moss-covered stones that looked like ancient watchmen in the dark.
Anna never let go of Alba’s hand.
At one point Alba whispered, barely audible:
“I thought I was done… I didn’t think anyone would find us.”
And Anna’s answer — strong and steady — was:
“You’re not done. Not today. Not ever.”
Why This Moment Stayed With Me
I still don’t know how long it took — hours seemed like minutes, minutes like heartbeats too heavy to count.
Back at the village, when Alba was finally safe, wrapped in blankets with water in her hands, Anna sat beside her, exhausted but unbroken.
They held each other. Not with relief alone — but with a depth of love that words can’t fully describe.
We weren’t just tourists that day.
We were witnesses to something raw and human — a moment that reminded me that true courage isn’t loud. It’s steady. It’s selfless. It’s the willingness to run into fear for those you love.
