One Step Away
He was the kind of boy everyone noticed—not for loud clothes or wild actions, but for something quieter, more magnetic: confidence. The kind that made others follow, trust, and believe. He moved through life like a river—unhesitant, flowing forward, never doubting its path. Decisions came easily to him. Directions were taken without maps. He trusted his instincts like they were laws written in stone.
"Why worry when you can just go with your gut?" he would often say with a casual grin.
One rainy evening, the clouds hung heavy like secrets waiting to be spilled. Thunder grumbled in the distance, and the sky was an angry shade of grey. Most people had hurried indoors, shutting windows and pulling curtains. But he? He stepped out. Alone. Umbrella-less. Humming a tune, hands in pockets, face turned toward the drizzle.
There was something soothing about that walk. The steady patter of rain, the cool breeze brushing past his cheeks, the wet scent of earth rising around him. The street he chose was old and forgotten—a back road people rarely used anymore. It was lined with worn-out trees and flickering lamp posts that had long since given up their duty. Tonight, not a single streetlight worked. The world had folded into a pool of shadows, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning.
But he didn’t mind the dark. He welcomed it. It felt like a stage, and he, the unbothered lead actor.
As he walked, his thoughts wandered—about school, about life, maybe even about someone he liked. His boots splashed through puddles, his tune never skipping a beat.
Then—suddenly—the sky cracked open.
A bolt of lightning tore through the heavens, lighting up everything in a ghostly white. For a brief second, the world stood still, frozen in light. And in that fleeting moment, he saw it—a wide-open manhole, directly in front of him. Just an inch ahead of his next step.
His body reacted before his mind could. He froze, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide. A single step... just one more, and he would’ve been gone. Vanished into the black hole beneath the ground. No one would’ve known where or how. The rain would’ve kept falling, the world would’ve kept turning, but his story would’ve ended in silence.
His throat dried. His heart pounded. Slowly, he stepped back.
He looked at the manhole again—dark, gaping, waiting. A silent trap.
For the first time in a long while, he felt small. Vulnerable. Breakable.
"Thank you, God," he whispered, his voice shaking more than he expected.
He turned around and walked back the way he came, this time not humming. This time, his hands weren’t swinging carefree—they were curled tightly into fists. His eyes scanned every inch of the path. Every puddle was a potential warning. Every shadow now had weight.
By the time he reached home, soaked to the bone, something inside him had shifted. He had walked into the storm as a boy who trusted only himself. He returned with a new understanding—that even the surest steps can lead to danger if you're not watching.
Since that night, he checks twice before crossing streets. He asks for directions. He listens to advice. The confidence is still there, but it now walks hand in hand with caution.
Because now he knows: sometimes, life gives you just one inch of mercy. And sometimes, that inch is all that stands between you—and the void.
