I was alone in a taxi at 3 a.m. The driver kept silently making eye contact.

When I arrived, I rushed out and into my building,

climbing to my 8th-floor flat. Then, I heard footsteps behind me — it was the driver. Panic surged through me.

My heart pounded in my chest as I started sprinting up the stairs.

His footsteps grew louder,

faster, closing the gap between us. My mind was racing with terrifying thoughts.

Why was he following me? What did he want?

I stumbled on the fifth floor but caught myself and kept going, adrenaline fueling every step.

By the time I reached the seventh floor,

I could hear his breathing, ragged and close.

Summoning my courage, I spun around, ready to scream for help.

To my horror, he… held out my wallet.

“You dropped this when you got out of the cab,” he said between gasps, holding it carefully with both hands.

For a moment, I just stared, completely frozen. Relief and embarrassment flooded through me all at once.

My wallet contained my ID, credit cards, and even the spare key to my apartment.

Losing it would have been a disaster. “Oh my goodness,” I breathed, my voice trembling. “I… I thought—” The driver gave me a gentle smile.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s late, and I just wanted to make sure you got this back safely.

Next time, maybe check your bag before you run off.” I apologized profusely,

feeling my cheeks burn with shame. “Thank you so much.

I completely misunderstood the situation.”

He nodded, turned around, and calmly descended the stairs, his footsteps fading into the night.

As I stood there, catching my breath, I realized how quickly fear can distort our perception.

In the quiet hours of the night, a kind act had seemed like a threat simply because my mind had filled in the blanks with worst-case scenarios.

When I finally reached my apartment and locked the door,

I held my wallet close and whispered to myself, “Not every story has a villain.

Sometimes, the hero just doesn’t look like one at first.”