A Stranger in Brooklyn
Brooklyn in 1941 smelled different.
The air was grittier, full of coal smoke and something metallic. The horns were louder, the streets more chaotic, but not in the same way as the present-day city Elara knew. There was a rhythm to it, a pattern woven into the city’s bones. But she was too busy trying not to hyperventilate to appreciate it.
She ducked into an alleyway between a tailor shop and a corner bakery. Her hands shook as she clutched the pocket watch—still silent, still whole. The weight of it had changed. It wasn’t just a curiosity anymore. It was an anchor. A warning. A key.
Her mind spun. Time travel wasn’t real. Not like this. She had read theories, of course, half-scoffed at them during university debates. But this? No humming portal, no flicker of blue light. Just a soft click, a shift in gravity, and now she was standing in the middle of a world that shouldn’t exist.
She peeked out from behind a lamppost. The street buzzed with life. Kids played stickball in the road, dodging trolleys. Men in flat caps stood smoking near the entrance to a pool hall. A woman was selling carnations from a tin bucket, humming something low and mournful. The details were too sharp, too vivid to be fake.
This was real.
Which meant she needed to be careful. She needed clothes that wouldn’t get her arrested, a place to sleep, a plan. But more than anything, she needed answers.
A sudden shout interrupted her thoughts. A boy had tripped while carrying a wooden crate of milk bottles, the glass shattering on the pavement in an echoing crash.
People turned. Elara stepped back—too quickly.
She stumbled off the curb and into the street.
A bicycle swerved to avoid her, the rider cursing under his breath. Elara froze, disoriented.
“Hey—watch it!” someone called.
But then, over the noise, came a different voice. Softer. Concerned.
“Hey, you alright?”
She turned.
He was thinner than she remembered, still pale and narrow-shouldered, his frame too small for the coat he wore. But the eyes were unmistakable.
Steve Rogers.
He looked exactly like the photograph. Kind. A little tired. Curious.
And he was looking right at her.
Elara stared, her heart in her throat. “I—uh—”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Steve said gently, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”
She tried to respond. Words tangled.
“I just… got a little lost,” she managed.
His brow furrowed. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Elara hesitated. “No. Not… not really.”
Steve smiled faintly. “Didn’t think so. C’mon, there’s a bench around the corner. You look like you could use a second.”
Before she could protest, he was already walking beside her, leading the way with the quiet certainty of someone used to being overlooked, but still wanting to help.
They sat in silence for a moment. Elara pressed her hands to her knees, grounding herself.
“Do you have someone I can call?” Steve asked. “A friend, maybe?”
She shook her head. “No. I came here… alone.”
Steve studied her. “You’ve got a strange accent. Not quite from the city.”
Elara smiled, barely. “I’ve heard that before.”
There was a beat of silence.
“You’re not running from anything, are you?” he asked. “Because if you are… well, I’m not gonna turn you in or anything. Just might be able to help.”
That startled her.
“I’m not… no,” she said quickly. “Not running. Just… out of place.”
He nodded slowly, clearly unsure, but not pressing her further.
“I know the feeling,” Steve said. “All my life, people keep telling me where I don’t belong.”
Elara’s breath caught in her chest.
He stood, dusting off his trousers. “Look, I’ve got some soup warming back at my place. It’s not much, but if you need a moment to figure things out… I’ve got space.”
She blinked. “You don’t even know me.”
He shrugged with a crooked grin. “Well, you looked like you were about to faint in the middle of Flatbush. That makes you my problem for at least ten more minutes.”
Elara almost laughed. Almost.
She followed him without fully understanding why. Maybe because he felt like the only real thing in a world turned sideways. Or maybe because something deep in her bones already trusted him.
As they walked through the dusky streets, Elara kept glancing at the watch in her pocket.
It remained silent.
But for the first time since it had ticked, she didn’t feel entirely afraid.