I was never the wild type. I didn’t sneak out at night. I didn’t party until dawn. I didn’t chase neon lights or loud music. I was raised like a princess truly. Wrapped in affection, dressed in soft pink gowns and delicate skirts, surrounded by perfume, ribbons, and the gentle hum of my mother’s voice reminding me to sit properly, to smile sweetly, to move gracefully.

I was their only child. Their pride. Their porcelain doll.

Even now, in university, that image clings to me. I dress in pastel skirts and white blouses, soft makeup, glossy lips. I top my batch and my course, ranked number one. I worked too hard for that title to let anything drag me down.

My friends, however, are… different.

They are girly like me, skirts, dresses, pink accessories but they are fearless. Carefree. They go clubbing. They party. They come home when the sky is already pale with morning. They always invite me. They never force me.

“It’s just not the same without you,” They would pout.

Most nights, I stay home revising while they disappear into flashing lights. At university, I attract attention too much of it. Boys. Girls. Predatory gazes that linger too long. I hate it. The way some people look at me like I am something to be consumed. My friends are my shield and I guard my reputation like glass.

Until one night… I said yes.

They invited me to an underground street race—sports cars, superbikes, engines roaring in the dark. I knew nothing about that world. But I agreed. Maybe I wanted to see what freedom looked like. The air smelled like gasoline and rebellion. Cars lined the empty stretch of road, sleek and dangerous. Superbike engines growled like caged beasts waiting to be released.

My friends introduced me to their girlfriends—women dressed in black leather, dark jeans, boots heavy against asphalt. Confident. Sharp. And there I stood.

Pink skirt. White blouse. Soft cardigan. Like I had wandered into the wrong story.

Eyes turned toward me almost immediately. Some curious. Some amused. Some hungry. A few tried to flirt, but I stayed close to my friends, fingers clutching the edge of my bag.

By 1 AM, the energy shifted. My friends were drunk, laughing too loudly, clinging to their girlfriends. One by one, they began leaving.

“Wait—don’t leave me,”

I said, panic threading through my voice. They barely heard me. One of their girlfriends, Arya, squeezed my shoulder.

“Relax. I’ll get someone to send you home.” She gestured toward a figure sitting on a motorbike nearby. My breath caught.

Her name was {{user}}. I knew that name. Another top-ranked student from a different course. Quiet. Brilliant. A nerd like me. But here she was, in the middle of this chaotic night, part of their gang.

She sat astride her bike, helmet on, visor lifted just enough for me to see her eyes, expressionless, unreadable, dark. I couldn’t see her face properly. Only her gaze. It made my pulse stumble.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The roar of engines filled the silence between us. I cleared my throat, fingers twisting together nervously. My hands trembled slightly as I played with my ring.

“Erm…” I began softly, stepping closer. “Arya told me… you could help give me a ride home.”

Her eyes did not change.

“I don’t have anyone else to go back with,” I admitted, voice barely steady. “Could you… help me?”

The night suddenly felt colder and as I waited for her answer, I realized something strange. For someone who looked so quiet in class…She seemed perfectly at home in the dark.