I was coming home from an evening class when a woman suddenly appeared from behind. She started hugging me violently, yelling loudly, “Honey! Long time no see! How’s your dad, still in the police?”

Stunned, I tried to push her off, when she suddenly whispered in my ear, “Don’t let them know you don’t know me. Just smile. I’ll explain later.”

My stomach dropped. I didn’t know her, had never seen her in my life. But the desperation in her voice made something inside me pause. Her grip on my arm was tight, not aggressive—more like she was trying to anchor herself to safety.

I glanced around. Two men in dark hoodies stood on the other side of the street, watching us like hawks. One had his hands in his pockets, the other had this restless energy, like he was waiting for a signal.

I nodded slowly and forced a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, wow, it’s been a while! You look great,” I said, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. My heart was racing, but I slipped into the lie like it was a sweater I’d worn before.

She kept walking with me, her arm linked with mine. Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes darted behind us now and then.

“Are they following us?” she asked quietly, lips barely moving.

I didn’t look back, just gave a small nod. “Yeah. They haven’t crossed the street, but they’re still there.”

We reached the corner store where I usually grabbed a soda after class. I gently tugged her toward it. “Let’s go in here,” I said cheerfully. “You still drink that weird raspberry lemonade?”

She played along like we were two old friends catching up. Inside, the cashier, a guy named Marcus I vaguely knew from school, looked up. I made eye contact with him and gave a small, uneasy smile. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

She grabbed two drinks, and I paid. As we walked to the back of the store, she finally let go of my arm and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

“My name’s Lina,” she said. “Those guys were waiting for me at the bus stop. I don’t know them. One kept asking if I was alone.”

“Are you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I ran. They followed. I saw you, and I just… panicked. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t know what to say. My legs felt like jelly. I wasn’t some action hero—I was just a 21-year-old trying to pass Statistics.

She noticed my nerves and added, “You don’t have to do anything else. I’ll call someone from here. I just needed to shake them off.”

I peeked through the blinds near the window. The two men were still out there, but now they looked unsure, pacing a little, checking their phones. They hadn’t seen us come in. Probably assumed we kept walking.

“You can’t leave alone,” I said, surprising myself. “If they’re waiting, they’ll just keep following.”

Lina hesitated. “I don’t want to drag you into this.”

I shrugged. “Well, too late for that.”

We waited another ten minutes. Marcus pretended not to listen but moved a little closer to the counter, like maybe he’d intervene if things got messy. Finally, Lina’s phone buzzed. She answered in hushed tones, nodded, then turned to me.

“My cousin’s coming to pick me up,” she said. “Can you just… walk out with me when she gets here? Like we’re together, still catching up?”

I agreed. Fifteen minutes later, a beat-up red Corolla pulled up. A woman with a messy ponytail and a fierce look in her eyes waved from the driver’s seat.

We left the store together. The two men had vanished. Maybe they got bored, maybe they spooked. I didn’t really care. We climbed into the Corolla, and the woman took off before I could even buckle up.

Lina turned to me. “You probably saved me tonight. Seriously.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You played along,” she said. “That’s not nothing.”

They dropped me off a block from my apartment. Lina reached out and grabbed my hand.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be okay now.”

And just like that, she was gone.

I didn’t sleep well that night. My brain kept playing scenes on loop. What if I hadn’t played along? What if they’d grabbed her? What if they grabbed me?

For a while, I convinced myself that was the end of it. A strange, stressful blip in an otherwise quiet life. But then, about a month later, I saw Lina again.

This time, it was daylight. I was at the campus library, struggling through a group project that was mostly just me doing the work while everyone else texted their significant others. I stepped outside to grab a snack from a vending machine when I spotted her.

She was walking quickly across the quad, head down, clutching a binder. I almost didn’t call out—but then I did.

“Lina?”

She turned, surprised, but then broke into a grin. “Hey! You.”

We sat at a bench. She looked healthier. Her eyes weren’t darting anymore.

“You doing okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “Better. I started taking self-defense classes. I filed a report after that night. Police said those guys were part of a group that had been harassing women near the transit stations. They’ve got one of them, still looking for the other.”

“Good,” I said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She smiled, a little sheepish. “I know. I’m sorry.”

We didn’t talk long, but before she left, she handed me a folded note.

I waited until she was gone before opening it.

If we hadn’t crossed paths, I don’t know what would’ve happened that night. Thank you for pretending—for making it real. If you ever need someone to fake being your long-lost cousin, I owe you one. – Lina

I kept the note in my wallet. Didn’t tell anyone about it. It felt like something just for me.

Fast-forward two years.

I’d almost forgotten about Lina—life got busy. I graduated, started an entry-level job at a small nonprofit. Nothing glamorous, but I liked it. I helped people. It felt real.

One rainy Tuesday, I walked into a coffee shop near work to meet a potential sponsor. The client was late, and I was sipping my overpriced latte, scrolling my phone, when I heard someone say, “Long time no see, cousin.”

It was her. Lina.

She looked different. Confident. She had a badge hanging from her neck—Department of Social Services.

We both laughed. The moment felt like a loop back to that night, but flipped.

She sat down. “I’m here for a foster case. A teenage girl. Abusive home. We’re trying to place her nearby.”

We caught up for twenty minutes. She told me she’d gone back to school, got certified as a caseworker. She said that night had changed her—not just because it was scary, but because someone showed up for her, even without knowing the full story.

“I try to do that now,” she said. “Show up for people.”

Before she left, she gave me her card. “You ever want to volunteer with youth? We’re always looking.”

That night, I signed up. I started tutoring two high school students. Nothing big. Just math help and some conversations about college. But every time I left those sessions, I felt something settle in my chest. Like I was making a dent, even a tiny one.

Months went by.

Then, twist number two came in the form of a headline: Missing Girl Found Safe Thanks to Local Caseworker.

It was Lina.

She’d been working with a girl named Tara, who had run away from a group home. Lina had kept in touch with her through art sessions, knew her favorite hangout spots. When Tara disappeared, Lina combed those same spots and found her sleeping behind an old church.

I texted her congrats. She replied with a single line:

Sometimes pretending can save a life. Just like you did for me.

I didn’t deserve the credit. But it made me realize something.

That night, when she grabbed my arm and begged me to go along, I could’ve shoved her off. I could’ve panicked. I could’ve made it about me. But for once, I didn’t.

And that moment—small, messy, awkward—ripples. I didn’t just save her. She turned that into a hundred other saves.

The world didn’t get magically better after that. It’s still full of creeps who wait at bus stops and friends who don’t pull their weight in group projects. But sometimes, just sometimes, one strange hug in the middle of the night can set off a chain reaction.

I still keep Lina’s original note.

It reminds me that pretending, when done for the right reasons, can be powerful. Life’s full of improv moments—you don’t always get the script. But if you show up, pay attention, and care just enough to fake it until someone feels safe… that counts.

So, next time someone hugs you like you’re old friends, maybe don’t freak out right away.

They might just be fighting for their life.

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