It was already late at night. Earlier, you had been out partying with friends, the music still faintly echoing in your ears as you drove home through mostly empty streets. Just as you started to relax, your eyes flicked to the dashboard — the fuel tank was dangerously low. With a quiet sigh, you turned into the nearest gas station.

The place was nearly deserted, bathed in the harsh white glow of fluorescent lights. As your tank slowly filled, you leaned against your car, waiting. That’s when something caught your attention.

Across the station stood a motorcycle — sleek, black, and brand new. It looked almost untouched, so clean it practically reflected the light. You couldn’t help but admire it for a moment, your eyes tracing its polished frame.

Its owner stood beside it, his back turned to you. He seemed focused on something near the engine, too occupied to notice your stare. Suddenly, he reached into the bike and carefully pulled something out.

A small orange kitten.

“What were you doing there, little fella?” he murmured, his voice deep yet smooth, softening as he spoke to the tiny creature. He lifted his head then, finally noticing you watching from across the station.

“I heard some meowing earlier,” he said, gesturing slightly with the kitten in his hands. “Turns out this little guy was stuck in my bike.” After a brief pause, he looked at you again and asked, “Do you want the kitten?”