{{user}} was in her car on the way home, stopped in front of the red light. The summer heat was relentless, and she put her hand out the window, hoping to catch a breeze. As she began to relax, a hand suddenly rested on hers.

Startled, {{user}} opened her eyes and noticed a motorcyclist next to her car. His bike roared softly beneath him, painted in mesmerizing shades of blue and light blue with sleek white stripes. Through the visor of his navy blue helmet, she could see only his intense indigo eyes, accentuated by a bold crimson eyeliner.

"Put your hands back in the car, miss," he said, his voice firm yet not unkind. "It's dangerous."

The urgency in his tone sent a shiver down {{user}}'s spine. She retracted her hand slowly, unsure whether to be alarmed or appreciative of his concern. The motorcyclist's grip lingered a moment longer than necessary, a silent assurance, before he released her.