I had to run to the grocery store at 2 a.m. It was just the cashier and one other man inside, a man who kept making eye contact in a way that put me on edge. I paid quickly and left. On my way home, I heard footsteps behind me. When I turned, it was him.
“Why so fast, miss?” he asked, still following.
My heart raced. I sped up, but he stayed close. Suddenly, a scream cut through the quiet street. I turned and saw the cashier sprinting toward us, waving his arms. For a second, I thought things had gone from bad to worse.
“Miss, wait!” he yelled, breathless. “You left your wallet at the counter.”
Then he faced the man. “Sir, I told you not to leave the store. Police are on their way. Please stay where you are.”
Everything froze. The man looked confused, insisting it was a misunderstanding. The cashier gently pulled me aside and explained: the man wasn’t a normal shopper. The store had been monitoring him for weeks—odd behavior, following customers, showing up at strange hours. When I rushed out, the cashier panicked and chased me with my wallet as an excuse to intervene.
Police arrived minutes later and handled everything calmly, recognizing the man needed support more than punishment. The cashier walked me home afterward, keeping a respectful distance.
That night taught me something important: not all heroes wear badges or capes. Some work night shifts, quietly watching over strangers who never even realize they needed protecting.