My arm was suddenly yanked back, a searing pain ripping through it as the newly stitched wound tore open.

Blood dripped from my fingers onto the ground.

He kept his head down, his eyes hidden beneath his bangs. After a long silence, he murmured, “Get out, don’t ever let me see you again—never!”

It was probably the kindest thing he had ever said to me.

I struggled to my feet and glanced back at him.

Clutching my bleeding arm, I stumbled through the crowd and boarded the train.

I was leaving the city.

It wasn’t my home.

My home lay somewhere far away, in any city distant from them.

Throughout...