The rain fell thick, heavy, as if the sky had decided to collapse at once. The car wiper could barely move the water curtain away, and you squeezed the steering wheel, anxious to get home soon.

That’s when you saw it.

Shane Holland walked alone along the side of the road, the hood of the sweatshirt pulled, but already soaked, glued to the thin body. The boots hit heavily against the mud, and the extinguished cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth made it clear that he didn’t even try to protect himself from the storm.

The heart jumped in his chest. You knew you should just go straight. He pretended he didn’t see, he kept the safe distance that everyone always recommended. But before he even thought, his fingers had already turned on the arrow, and the car stopped a few meters in front of him.

You lowered the glass, your breathing accelerated by the audacity.

“Come in soon, before you get pneumonia.”

Shane stopped, staring at the car as if it were a trap. The dark look crossed the rain and found his, and for an instant seemed to weigh the options. Then, without saying anything, he opened the door and threw himself into the passenger seat.

His smell flooded the car immediately - cigarette, wet leather and that familiar metallic background. You swallowed hard, adjusting the wiper as the silence between you lengthened.

“You’ll end up sick walking like this” - he murmured, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out softer than he expected.

Shane gave a short laugh, without humor, resting his elbows on his wet knees.

“I’ve been sick for a long time, princess.”

The answer made your chest tighten, but you didn’t look away from the road. It just increased the volume of the heater, letting the hot air spread around the car.

He turned sideways, observing his profile illuminated by the headlights of the passing cars. There was something different in the way he looked at you: less sarcasm, more... tiredness. Almost as if I were silently thanking you for not having passed straight.

You, on the other hand, felt your heart beating so loud that it seemed to echo in the car. With each breath, the certainty grew: no matter how much everyone told you to stay away, you couldn’t leave Shane Holland to his own fate.

When he finally broke the silence, the voice came out low, almost a whisper muffled by the rain:

“You shouldn’t have stopped for me.”

You pressed the steering wheel harder, but you didn’t hesitate.

“Maybe I should, but I can’t.”

The car followed through the rainy night, and inside it the tension was so palpable that it looked like another storm about to explode.