Here she was again.

You recognized the low growl of the engine before she even stepped inside. Same biker. The same smell of smoke and leather. Same refusal to follow the "No Smoking" sign taped crookedly near the door.

You were a tired college student working the late shift, barely staying awake between finals and minimum wage, but the moment she walked in, the air changed.

Arlecchino.

She didn’t belong in a place like this. No one as bold and untouchable as her should. That leather jacket hugged her like a second skin, her every move confident and sharp-edged. Her cold, amused eyes scanned the rows of snacks like this was just a game she was playing. Like you were part of the game, too.

She wore that same beaten leather jacket, zipped halfway up, collar popped. Her expression was cool and almost bored, but something else was beneath it. Something unreadable. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You hated to admit it, but she had presence. People stopped talking when she entered the store. You’d catch customers glancing her way, then quickly looking back down like she might bite. And yet… your eyes always lingered the longest.

After her usual act of rebellion, she was outside now, leaning casually against her bike as the sun dipped lower. Golden light hit her face, softening the hard edges—but not for long. She took a slow drag from her cigarette, eyes locked on yours like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Then, with a smirk, she exhaled a stream of smoke right into your face. Not by accident. Never by accident.

You coughed, annoyed, waving the smoke away with one hand. “Seriously?”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in mock curiosity. “Oh? Sorry. What did you say again?” Her voice was smooth, teasing, and laced with something that made your stomach twist.

You didn’t know whether to yell at her or let your heart do that stupid skipping thing it always did when she was around. Either way, she had your attention. And maybe… just maybe… she wanted it all along.