"Hi," he smiled.
"Why are you here?" She raised the pocket knife protectively in front of her.
"Slow down sugar, I ain't gonna hurt you." He chuckled.
"Then why are you here?" She tilted her head.
He shrugged, "I need a place to crash in for tonight."
"Don't you have a house?" The brave young Malaya said. She sat down in her bed, her guards dissolving. She put down her knife on the bedside table. The black haired boy smiled and sat on the floor.
"I don't have a house," he smiled bitterly.
"Why is that?"
"I'm a runaway."
"You're what?"
"I'm a runaway kid. I ran away from home when I was like- I dunno 13 or something something," he waved off.
"So you don't have any parents?" She tilted her head to the side.
"Nope," he laughed.
"Why do you need a place to stay in again?" She asked, looking at him questioningly.
"Nah, it's not of your business." He got up and brushed the dust off his pants, "I'm going."
She liked this boy, though he was a complete stranger. He talked to her and she talked to him and that's all she ever wanted. She wanted to talk. No one gave her the chance of doing so, so she had to make a way for the boy to stay.
"No wait- don't go!" She said, standing up to his level.
He stopped on his tracks to stop her. "And why is that?"
"Because I wanted to talk."
"Aren't you scared of me?"
"No," she shook her head, "Why would I be?"
He chuckled darkly, "Do you wanna know why I came here?"
She shrugged and bit her lip when he finally sat down on the same spot he'd been sitting on just minutes ago. At least she got him to stay.
"Well," he crinkled up his nose, "I stole food from the grocery store and I stabbed a man on the arm."
His straightforwardness took her by surprise.
She doesn't know how to feel about what he just said so she just nodded.
"Aren't you shocked?" He asked.
"Hey," she shrugged, "Why'd you stab a man?"
"Because he is a cop." He shrugged before taking an apple from the bag slung across his body. "You want one?" he offered, taking a bite.
"No thanks."
"Well, girly." He smirked up at her, "What's your story?"
"My story?"
"Yeah," he shrugged, "Everyone has a story and I just told you mine."
"That wasn't your story."
He nodded in agreement. "Tell you what, girly. You tell your story first and then I tell mine."
