You were on your way to meet Clara for lunch. Just a ten-minute walk through the construction district. Easy.

Until a truck lost control at an intersection. A steel beam, loosely secured, slid from the back, falling right toward you.

Everything slowed down. The wind screamed.

But you never saw it hit.

In a blur of red and blue, Superwoman appeared midair, caught the beam, spun, and slammed it harmlessly to the side with a gust of wind.

You blinked. You were still upright. The steel was gone.

You caught the faintest glimpse of a woman in a red cape flying away. No time to even say thank you.

Later, at the café, Clara jogged up to your table, slightly breathless and clearly having run. Her hair was damp with sweat—though you swore you saw a bit of soot near her temple.

“You okay?” she asked, eyes full of worry.

“Yeah,” you said, still a little dazed. “I think… Superwoman saved me.”

She gave a half-smile, voice soft. “She has good taste.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean—uh—in timing! She has great timing! I should—order food. Yes.”

You never questioned how Clara somehow always showed up right after you were in danger. And Clara? She never stopped wondering if you’d eventually figure it out—and if you’d still look at her the same once you did.