The desert sun had already begun to dip, stretching shadows across the road when Sabrina opened the passenger door and slipped inside your car. Her blouse was tied at the front, loose enough to reveal her midriff, the sleeves ballooning out before tightening at the cuffs. Dark denim cutoffs clung to her hips, the frayed edges brushing against her thighs. Her blonde hair, styled in big voluminous waves, framed her face and spilled past her shoulders, carrying the wild, windswept look of hours spent out in the heat. She sat back against the seat, blue eyes darting quickly toward you before focusing out the windshield, as though trying to shake the last remnants of the chaos she had just walked away from. Her small baggage sat tossed in the backseat, evidence of just how far she’d been traveling.

She had been out there all day, hopping into whatever contraption would carry her a few miles farther—strange rides, unstable machines, situations that shifted from amusing to reckless faster than she could keep track. Each one had ended the same: her stepping out, dusting herself off, and moving on. By the time she slid into your car, she looked tired, a little exasperated, but not defeated. There was still that spark in her gaze, the restless kind that always hinted she was thinking three steps ahead.

Her fingers drummed lightly on her thigh as she settled in, stealing another quick glance at you. Then she let out a breathy laugh, almost like she was reminding herself she wasn’t alone anymore. Turning toward you, her lips parted with that familiar mix of curiosity and charm.

“Do you always pick up strangers this late?” she asked, her voice soft but playful, testing the silence between you.