Another wave of pain crossed her face. Malik’s chest tightened. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know anything about pregnancy or emergencies.
But he knew this:
You don’t leave someone like that.
“I’ll help you,” he said quickly, before doubt could stop him.
He grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow.
The metal was cold. Slippery. Too heavy for a boy his size.
“Hold on,” he told her. “I’ll get you somewhere safe.”
The rain soaked him instantly. Water splashed up his legs as he pushed forward, muscles screaming in protest. The wheelbarrow wobbled, threatening to tip. A car horn blared. Someone shouted something angry out a window.
Malik didn’t stop.
Every step felt like it might be his last. His hands burned. His breath came in sharp gasps. But he kept going—because stopping felt worse than the pain.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, over and over. “I got you.”
The woman watched him through tears, hardly believing what was happening. This boy—this child—was doing what the entire city had refused to do.
Finally, flashing red lights cut through the rain.
An ambulance screeched to a halt.
Paramedics rushed out, voices urgent but controlled. They lifted the woman gently from the wheelbarrow and onto a stretcher.
One of them turned to Malik. “Did you bring her here?”
Malik nodded,usp the rain dripping from his hood.
“You did the right thing,” the paramedic said firmly. “You may have saved two lives tonight.”
Malik didn’t know how to respond. He just stepped back as the ambulance doors closed.
He didn’t wait for thanks.
He didn’t expect anything.
He turned around and walked back into the rain.
