It was a beautiful Saturday - one of those rare days where time slows down, and the world feels soft and kind. The sky stretched wide and blue, and the breeze danced with the scent of something familiar. My sister and I decided to take a short stroll - just in front of our house. Nothing far. Nothing risky. Just two sisters, chatting and enjoying the warmth of the day.

We were laughing - over what, I don't remember now - but I soon grew tired and told her to go ahead while I rested on an old bench beneath the neem tree we'd known since childhood. As I sat there, the stillness grew strange. The breeze stopped. The light seemed off. A weight settled on my chest.

Then it happened.

A dark, silent car rolled up beside her - unfamiliar, tinted, wrong. The doors didn't slam open - they unfolded like a trap. She hesitated? and then the struggle began. Hands reached out, grabbing, pulling. My sister kicked and screamed, her whole body resisting. And it was her sweat - yes, the sweat from our innocent walk - that made her slippery, impossible to grip.

She broke free.

And then, the car vanished. No screech. No engine. Just? gone.

No witnesses. No tire marks. Nothing left - except a question that still haunts us: How on earth could a simple stroll in front of our own house become a nightmare?

To this day, we can't explain it. But we know one thing.

God did it.

He stepped in. He saved her - not by strength, not by chance, but by grace.

And we've never walked that road the same way again.