Part-95

  The familiar bustle of the vegetable market greeted James as he weaved through the stalls. Today, his usual gym routine would be deyed by a grocery errand – his mother had entrusted him with buying some fresh produce. He expertly navigated the crowded aisles, a practiced shopper despite his young age. Suddenly, a otioed a few stalls down.

  James' keen eyes spotted a group of boys, their swagger b ance, accosting a vegetable vendor. They were colleg moheir voices loud and demanding. They spoke about a "big star cert" and the "cost ing them in."

  The se made James' blood simmer. He reized the glint of intimidation in the vendor's eyes – fear disguised as relut pliance when handing over a few bills. Just as he was about to intervene, a different kind of ce stepped forward.

  An elderly woman, her face etched with wrinkles but her eyes sparkling with defiance, marched right into the ter of the otion. She stood tall before the boys, her voice raspy but firm. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded, her words ced with righteous anger. "Why are you harassing this kind man?"

  The boys, momentarily stunned by the ued challenge, exged fused gnces. One of them, the apparent leader, puffed out his chest, trying to maintain a facade of authority. "We're just colleg donations, grandma," he mumbled, his voice losing its earlier bravado.

  The old woman snorted in derision. "Donations made uhreat are not donations, young man," she tered. "This is extortion, pin and simple."

  James' blood ran cold. The situation had escated from intimidation to ht violence. He watched with growing anger as the leader of the boys, the oh the cut on his cheek, stepped forward, his bravado returning.

  "What's your problem, old dy?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disrespebsp; "Why you gotta interrupt our business? Mind your own affairs, alright?"

  The old woman stood her ground, her held high despite the tremor in her voibsp; "This is my business," she retorted. "I won't tolerate bullies preying on ho people."

  The boy's face torted with rage. He leaned in, t over the woman, his voice ced with a dangerous threat. "We're just asking for some money, hag. Don't make a se."

  But the woman wouldn't back down. She met his gaze defiantly. "This isn't a se, young man," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "This is standing up for what's right."

  Fury flickered in the leader's eyes. He leaned into the woman's face, his voice low and menag. "Look, old hag," he growled, "you're messing with the wrong people. Just shut your trap and go about your day."

  But the woman wouldn't be intimidated. In a move that surprised everyone, she raised her hand and delivered a stinging sp across the boy's cheek. "Manners!" she barked, her voice surprisingly strong. "That's how you speak to your elders!"

  The market went silent. The sp echoed iense air, a shock to everyone. The leader boy, stunned and humiliated, stood frozen for a moment, a red handprint blooming on his cheek. His eyes burned with fury.

  "You… you hit me?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. Rage boiled within him, threatening to erupt. "You wanna die, old hag?" he roared, his trol slipping.

  Fury paihe leader's face a dangerous crimson. In a fsh of untrolled rage, he shoved the old woman with a siing thud. A startled cry escaped her lips as she tumbled backward, nding with a pained gasp on the rough cobblestones of the market square. The croed in unison, a collective wave of shock rippling through them.