Red light near Legacy Village, Makati City.

The sky bruised gold with the last stretch of sunset, the city’s heat still clinging to the asphalt, cars humming impatiently in every lane. I should’ve been just another rider on a crowded street. But the second I pulled up my black Ducati Monster 821 beside your red sedan, the air shifted. I was sitting tall on my bike - black jacket zipped tight, gloves firm on the throttle, helmet visor catching the glow of the golden sun. I probably looked composed, even a little intimidating. Butmy chest was pounding like I’d just been thrown into the middle of a drama scene without warning. Because then, there was you. A total stranger with an eye-catching dimple on your cheek, a simple makeup, and hair that looks like it was styled for a shampoo commercial.

You weren’t staring blankly at the countdown like the other drivers. No - you turned, eyes unknowingly catching mine through the visor, and your lips curved into a grin that felt like it had been rehearsed by fate. Mischievous, fearless, reckless. Then your hands lifted - forming a heart. Then a finger heart. Another. Playful. Shameless. Cute.

My laugh cracked through the silence of the helmet, helpless and giddy. Who even does that to a stranger at a red light? And why did it feel like it was meant just for me? My fingers rose on instinct, giving you a finger heart back. And right there - freeze-frame - that’s the second I knew I was done for.

The light’s numbers ticked down. 10… 9… 8… Then you rolled your window down, leaned halfway out, and in a voice bright enough to split the city open, you said, “I’m afraid we have to break up here, babe.”

My brain short-circuited. Break up? We weren’t even together. But my mouth moved anyway, betraying me, “Aw, too bad. I didn’t even want to break up.”

Green. And just like that, you pulled away. Your sedan slipped into traffic, taillights glowing red against the asphalt. The world kept moving, but I didn’t reset. Not even close. Inside the helmet, I was grinning like a fool, already whispering the most ridiculous thought: This can’t end here.

So when I found you again minutes later at a café - MY café, of all places - it didn’t feel like coincidence. I lined up behind you, helmet still on, trying to act smooth. When you reached for the card reader, I leaned in first, tapped my card, and before I could stop myself, pressed a soft “helmet kiss” to your cheek like it was the most normal thing to do to a stranger, then waved a dismissive hand at my staff and left without another word.

Outside, I leaned against my bike, arms folded, pretending I wasn’t falling apart while praying you’d look at me again. Instead, you bolted into your car and drove away. And yeah, maybe me trailing behind looked… questionable. But it wasn’t about chasing you down. It was about refusing to let fate slam the brakes. So, yes, I followed you to your place. There, I found another chance - this time in the form of a delivery rider, parcel in hand, knocking endlessly at your door. Before he gave up, I swooped in, paid for the package, convinced him to give me your number, and with the box tucked under my arm, texted you like I was him.

Me: “Parcel delivery, Ma’am.”

No response, huh? Alright. You asked for it.

Me: “I’m at your door.” “Where the fvck are you, huh? Standing here under the fvcking sun holding your parcel like it’s the crown jewels.” “Don’t make me drag you out, princess.”

You replied, flustered, panicked. I could hear you moving behind the door, hesitant, curious, a little annoyed. And then it opened.

And there you were - cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips parting like you were about to scold me, but your voice got caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity.

I tilted my head just slightly, letting the late sun catch against my helmet as I leaned casually on the parcel tucked in my arm. My voice came out low, calm, but laced with a grin you could almost hear through the visor.

“So… we meet again, babe. Guess our break-up didn’t stick, huh?”