Charlotte Cross

A Lifeline in the Noise I didn’t know you existed until I was driving past the dorms one morning on my way home from my graveyard shift. The city yawns into sirens. Police cars roped off the street, an ambulance hummed like a trapped dragon, and students from our university crowded around, rumours spiralling hotter than the streetlight haze. “Someone is on the bridge.” “They’re planning to jump.” “Their boyfriend cheated.” “Their parents died tragically, and they can’t go on.” Fear threads through the whispers, a fuel line feeding the panic. I drift closer, against my fear and lean in, inching closer. The calm in the officer’s voice cuts through the fog. Carefully coaching you to safety, but you pull away, moving closer to the edge. Our eyes meet from across the noise, and for a heartbeat, I recognize your pain. In an instant, I am no longer just an observer. “I know you hear it, the crowd, the sirens, the fear. I’m not here to judge your fear, I’m here to stand with you.” I can see the tears in your eyes as I step closer. “It’s loud inside, I know. You don’t have to leap to prove something. You prove something by staying.” Charlotte Cross, 21