When the Light Turns Green

The light turned green.

Aaron didn't move.

Horns barked behind him, angry and immediate. He sat still, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hovering over the gearshift. The engine hummed, a low, patient growl under the hood, waiting on him. The green light glared overhead, a judgmental eye in the rain.

His phone buzzed in the passenger seat. Again.

He didn’t look at it.

Instead, he looked ahead. Across the intersection, on the sidewalk, a woman in a red coat stood beneath a dripping awning. She was staring back at him. Not at him, exactly — but at his car. Or past it. No umbrella. Just standing there. Soaked.

The light turned yellow. Then red.

Aaron exhaled like he’d been underwater.

The horns stopped. Engines revved beside him. The lane to his right crept forward, a black pickup pulling through the intersection, its wipers ticking like a metronome.

The phone buzzed again. He glanced.

7 Missed Calls- TRACEY

He let the screen go dark.

Another buzz. This one a text.

“Please just talk to me.”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

The light turned green again.

This time, his foot moved to the gas. The car inched forward — hesitated — then stopped. He looked at the rearview. A man in a white van gestured at him with both hands, shouting behind the glass.

He didn’t care.

Rain streaked down the windshield. The wipers swiped back and forth, pushing away the mess, clearing the view for a second before it blurred again.

The woman in the red coat was gone.

Just gone.

He blinked. Looked up and down the sidewalk. Empty.

He remembered her face now. Not from just now, but from somewhere else.

A memory- five years ago. A park bench. A red coat. Her laugh.

Another buzz.

Aaron turned the ignition off.

Silence filled the car.

He sat there, both hands on the wheel, breathing like the air was thick. He could still turn around. He could still go home. But something had changed. In the space between the first green light and the second, in the horns and the rain and the face of a woman who wasn’t supposed to be there, not anymore.

He opened the door. The cold hit him fast. Rain soaked his shoulders. He didn’t have a coat. Didn’t care.

He walked through the intersection. Past the green light. Past the angry drivers. Past everything.

And just like that, he was gone too.

Aaron crossed the street.

No destination in mind. Just motion. Just escape.

The rain wasn’t letting up. It came harder now, sharp and cold, beading on his skin, clinging to his shirt. His sneakers soaked through in seconds. The city around him blurred — headlights smeared in the wet, neon signs bleeding down windows. Somewhere, a siren howled and faded.

He kept walking.

Not fast. Just steady.

The awning where the woman had been was empty. Just a wet patch of concrete and the echo of something unfinished. Maybe she had never been there. Maybe his brain had spit her out like a reflex, a ghost shaped by guilt and silence.

The phone buzzed again in his pocket.

He didn’t check.

Instead, he stood under the awning and stared at the puddles. Watched the drops scatter across the surface. Each ripple erased by the next. A constant reset.

Behind him, someone laughed. Not close. Just faint enough to make him turn.

Nothing there.

He turned back.

She was standing across the street again.

Red coat. Same one. Same posture. Same stillness.

But this time, she looked directly at him. Not through him. Not past him. At him.

He blinked.

A horn blared. Tires hissed through the puddles. A bus screamed by, cutting the space between them like a blade. When it passed, she was gone again.

Aaron staggered back one step.

His breath caught in his throat. He rubbed his eyes hard, once, twice — trying to shake something loose. “Get a grip,” he whispered.

But then he did something he hadn't done in years. He pinched the inside of his arm. Hard. The pain bloomed fast, real and sharp. Still, the doubt lingered. Because what if he was dreaming? Or worse — what if he wasn’t?

His pulse thudded in his ears.

The light across the intersection turned green.

And something clicked in his chest.

He turned around and ran.

Not toward the woman. Not toward the car. Just away. Down the block. Past closed shops and flickering signs. Past a world that kept going like nothing had happened.

He ducked into an alley.

Stopped.

Breathed.

The phone was still buzzing.

He took it out. Looked at the screen.

1 New Message- TRACEY “We’re not okay. But I’m still here.”

His thumb hovered over the screen.

He didn’t reply.

Instead, he slid the phone into his pocket, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. Let the rain hit his face. Let the cold bite.

And he stayed like that. For a long time.

Longer than the few minutes it had taken to lose himself.

Long enough to want to find something again.

The alley smelled like rust and old water.

Aaron stayed pressed against the wall, his breath slowing. His shirt clung to him, plastered in the cold. Steam rose from a vent nearby, the only warmth in the narrow corridor.

Footsteps passed the mouth of the alley. Quick, purposeful. Someone with a place to be.

He didn’t move.

The phone buzzed again.

He let it.

Somewhere inside, a voice whispered- go back. Back to the car, back to the calls, back to the life waiting to be explained or forgiven.

But another voice said- keep going. Keep walking. Stay lost.

The truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted.

He took a step forward, deeper into the alley. His foot splashed in a puddle. A flickering security light buzzed overhead. He paused beneath it.

There was something on the wall.

Graffiti. Layers of it. Tags over tags. But one phrase stood out, written in red paint, dripping slightly in the rain-

“YOU ARE HERE.”

Aaron stared at it.

Not just read it. Stared. Like it might open something.

You are here.

Not where you planned to be. Not where you promised to be.

But here.

And somehow, that mattered.

He reached into his pocket. Pulled out the phone. Screen cracked. A drop of water slipped across it. He wiped it clean.

Opened the message.

Typed-

“I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m still moving.”

Sent it.

No reply. Not yet.

Didn’t matter.

He stepped out of the alley, back onto the street.

Rain still coming down. Harder now.

He zipped up his hoodie, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked.

Not away. Not back.

Just forward.

The light changed behind him.

But he didn’t look.