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THREE

LUKA

I should be counting my blessings, escaping from prowling soldiers and gestapo twice in one night.

On my savior’s bike, with her perched precariously on the basket, we managed to lose the German soldiers, taking a sharp turn down a dark narrow inlet of an alley.

We’ve been standing here, barely breathing, for long minutes now, our backs pinned to the gritty edifice of the building behind us.

I’ve come to notice our height difference—she’s a head shorter than me, petite, almost delicate-looking with her long blonde braid and light-colored freckles flecked across her cheeks and nose.

But there’s a bold, fiery spirit within her actions that defies societal norms. Her impish edge radiates with real spirit.

Yet, despite her show of revolt, she exudes natural beauty and sweetness—breathtaking femininity.

One could easily confuse her for a timid, dainty woman at first glance.

And they would be quite wrong.

A sudden roll of laughter spills out of her like a deflating balloon.

“Dear me…I thought we were done for,” she says, pressing her hand to her white button-down blouse as her olive green and gray plaid skirt sweeps against my hand with a passing gust of wind.

“You’ve escaped a soldier or two in the past, haven’t you?”

“Running from a soldier isn’t one of my favorite skills, but a necessary one, unfortunately,” I tell her.

“Well, it’s clear skill and talent runs deep in your veins,” she says.

“By the way, I’m sorry for tearing your badge, but?—”

“It was—it was my favorite. It fit just right,” I say with a huff, keeping a straight face.

“Oh, dear! I’m—I didn’t want them to come after you for singing in the square.”

The laughter rolls out of me.

I’m not sure when the last time I’ve even let out a laugh was, it’s like stretching a muscle that’s been restrained for far too long.

“I was making a joke.”

She breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop myself. But truly, the day I don’t have to wear a badge to walk down the street will be quite liberating. You did me a favor, and I’m grateful.”

A blush sweeps over her pink cheeks as she drops her stormy-blue, doe-like gaze.

“I’m glad I could help.”

My heart is tumbling in my chest, and my clammy palms tell me I’m a fool for allowing myself to notice so many details about this woman, who I’ll likely never have the privilege of meeting again.

A Jewish man and a non-Jewish woman, conversing in this way—it’s trouble in the making per German law.

“Let’s get you home,” I tell her, grabbing the bicycle handles to pull it upright away from the wall.

“You already did,” she says with a quiet laugh.

“I live in this building here. The door is right around the corner. What about you? How long will it take you to get home?” she asks, breathlessly.

“Curfew is in ten minutes for you.” Panic laces her words.

Curfew. I gaze up at the darkening sky as if I need proof of nightfall.

The heaviness of time weighs on my chest. “My apartment is less than a dozen blocks from here.” If I walk quickly and take a direct route, which will surely be guarded by gestapo, I could make it in time.

But those aren’t the safest roads to take home.

The alternate route will take longer than ten minutes…

“Take my bicycle so you can get home quickly,” she offers.

“No, no. I can’t—we’re not allowed—I’ll be fine, I assure you,” I say, my heart pounding with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

I want to stay here and talk to her.

I’ve never met this girl before, but there’s a sense of familiarity about her, like a distant memory whispering to me.

I clasp my hand around the back of my neck, searching for something more to say, biding time I don’t have.

“Will I see you again?” My question blurts out before I’ve had a chance to think it through.

Her gaze flickers toward the main road before staring back up at me.

“You shouldn’t be asking such things,” she says with a coy smile.

“Yes, I’m aware. But I am,” I respond softly.

She straightens her skirt then curls the wild blonde strands of hair flying free from her braid behind her ears.

Again, my heart gallops in my chest—all I can do is stare at her, wondering where she came from tonight and why she chose to help me, of all people.

If I believed in angels, I might consider the thought.

She’s as beautiful as one.

A hollering in the distance breaks our stare and she grasps the handles of her bicycle.

“Please be careful,” she says.

“Hurry home. Don’t let them find you.”

I take a step backward and drop my hands into my pockets, but she doesn’t turn away.

We’re captured in the moment with a longing stare I wish could last all night, until I force myself to break away.

“Right—well, good—good night now,” I say, my words rattling against each other as I turn and jog off in the opposite direction.

“Good night,” she replies, her voice falling off in the distance.

I stare straight ahead at the darkening roads, wondering if I’ll ever catch another glimpse of her.

“Wait!” I stop and turn around, as if she’d still be standing at the corner.

But she’s gone. It’s too late.

I never asked for her name…