No Don't

The rain had just started to fall when Evan spotted him—a figure silhouetted against the gray sky, standing on the edge of the bridge with its cold steel railing to his back. Evan’s heart jolted in his chest. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could mistake for anything else. He knew that stance. Too still. Too deliberate. The way the young man leaned forward ever so slightly, hands gripping the rail as if he’d already decided. 

Cars whizzed past, seemingly unaware, as Evan’s feet moved before his brain caught up. His pulse thudded in his ears, louder than the patter of rain on his jacket. He stumbled forward, his boots splashing in shallow puddles. His eyes locked on the figure, and for a moment, he forgot everything else—the ache in his knees, the heavy bag on his back, even the cold air biting at his face.  

“No, don’t!” he called out, his voice sharper than he expected. It echoed, hard and hollow, against the pavement below. His eyes locked on the figure of a man on the edge.  

The young man flinched, his hands tightening on the rail, but he didn’t turn around. His body went stiff like he’d been caught doing something forbidden. Rain dripped from his hoodie, running in thin rivulets across his face. His breath came out in short clouds of mist, his eyes locked in a forward stare.

“Please,” Evan said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. He slowed his approach, careful with every step as if the bridge itself might crack beneath him. “Don’t do this.”  

The young man didn’t move. He just stood there, bowed his head, his hands gripping the rail like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. For a second, Evan wasn’t sure he’d heard him at all. But then the young man spoke. His voice was quiet, barely audible over the rain and rush of passing cars.  

“Why not?”  

Evan didn’t have an answer in mind. What was he supposed to say? Because people will miss you? Because you matter? Words like that always felt hollow, like reading off a script nobody believes. But he knew he couldn’t stay silent.  

“Because you’re here right now,” Evan said, his tone direct, his breath fogging in front of him. “That means there’s still a chance.”  

The young man snorted, bitter, like he’d heard it all before. His shoulders shook, and Evan couldn’t tell if it was from laughter or sobbing.  

“You don’t know me,” the young man said, his voice filled with exhaustion. “You don’t know anything about me.”  

“You’re right or maybe not,” Evan replied, inching closer, step by step. “But I know what it feels like to think it’s over. To be where you are right now.”  

The rain picked up, falling harder now, drumming against the metal beams of the bridge. Evan stopped a few feet away, close enough to see the young man’s hands trembling as he gripped the railing. He was younger than Evan had realized—maybe twenty, twenty-one. A kid, really. His face was pale, hollow-eyed, with dark circles, like he hadn’t slept in days.  

“They always say it’ll get better,” the young man muttered, his gaze fixed on the rushing water below. “But it doesn’t. Every day it’s just—” His words caught in his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut like he was trying to crush the thought before it could fully form. “It’s too much.”  

Evan knew that weight. He knew the feeling all too well, like an old scar that aches when it rains.  

“Yeah,” Evan said, his voice steady. “Sometimes it is.”  

He took another step forward. Inching close enough now that he could reach out if he needed to. Not that he would. Not unless he had to.  

“But ‘too much’ isn’t forever,” he continued, his eyes never leaving the young man’s face. “It’s just... right now.”  

The young man glanced at him then, just for a second. His eyes were sharp but hollow, full of the kind of pain that didn’t fade on its own. His lower lip quivered, and he bit it hard enough to turn it white.  

“You’re lying,” the young man whispered. “You don’t know what it’s like.”  

Evan stepped even closer. This was the moment where it could all tip the wrong way. He knew that. One wrong word, one wrong movement, and it could be too late.  

“Yeah, I do,” Evan said, his voice quiet but firm. “Four years ago, I stood on a bridge just like this. Right there on the edge, thinking the same things you are.” He let the words hang for a moment, raw and open. “Some guy I didn’t even know stopped me. Talked to me like I was a person, not a problem to fix.”  

He saw it in the young man’s eyes—surprise, disbelief, doubt.  

“Now I’m here,” Evan added, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Talking to you.”  

The young man let go of the rail with one hand, dragging it down his rain-soaked face. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. “What changed?” he asked, his voice cracking as he stared intently at Evan. 

Evan tilted his head, thinking. “Nothing,” he admitted. “At first, nothing. I still felt worthless for a while. Still had to face everything I was running away from. But that guy—he told me one thing that stuck.”  

The young man glanced away and back at him again, his eyes narrowing. “What?”  

Evan stepped closer, just a foot away now. “He said, ‘If you give up and do what you’re planning, you’ll never know if you were wrong.’” He shrugged, his jacket slick with rain. “And I stopped to think. I didn’t want him to be right about me. I didn’t want to make a mistake I could never correct.”  

Silence followed. Just the rain, the sound of cars rushing across the bridge behind them, and the swirling turbid water below.  

The young man let out a long, shaky breath, his grip on the rail loosening. His gaze darted to Evan’s face, searching for something. Honesty, possibly. Or maybe hope.  

“You still think about it?” he asked, his voice small and soft.  

“Yeah,” Evan said without hesitation. “Not every day. Not as much as I used to. But yeah, it still creeps in sometimes.” He watched the young man carefully, searching for any sign of what he’d do next. “That’s not failure, though. That’s just life.”  

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The rain soaked them both to the bone, but neither one seemed to care.  

Then, slowly, the young man took a step back from the edge. He supported his weight with his arms and swung his feet over the rail. His sneakers landed firmly on the bridge’s solid surface in front of Evan. His breath came out in a ragged gasp like he’d been holding it for hours. Standing silent, he watched the rain trickle down Evan’s face. His arms hung limply at his sides, then he looked toward the wet concrete beneath his feet. The reflection of his face staring back. 

Evan finally exhaled, feeling his chest ease for the first time in minutes. He hugged the young man tightly and stepped back, his hands shook, and he stuffed them into his jacket pockets to hide it. Evan’s eyes glistened as his lips tightened.

The young man stayed quiet, his gaze distant. Evan didn’t push him to speak. Instead, he just stood there, shoulders hunched against the rain. After a while, the young man glanced at him, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.  

“Name’s Liam,” he muttered, wiping rain from his face.  

“Evan,” he replied, offering a reassuring nod.  

They didn’t say anything more. No pep talk, no forced inspiration. They just stood there on the bridge, soaked and silent, as the rain poured down and cars rushed past.  

Eventually, Liam glanced down the street. “There a diner nearby?”  

Evan nodded, water dripping from his hood. “Two blocks east. Decent coffee, I believe.”  

“Yeah,” Liam said, shivering. “Might head that way.”  

“Good idea,” Evan replied. “I’ll walk with you.”  

Liam didn’t argue. He pulled his hoodie tighter around himself, glanced once at the river below, then turned toward the street. Evan fell into step beside him, both of them walking quietly through the rain.  

Neither uttered a word. They made no promises. No commitments. Just two men sharing the weight of life.