It was a golden summer afternoon—the kind where the sun felt like it was hanging around just a little longer than usual, like even it didn’t want the day to end. The last day of high school. The last bell had rung, and everything felt surreal, like the world had tilted slightly, humming with the buzz of freedom and the unknown.

You were standing on the front steps of the school, clutching your backpack like it was some kind of anchor, when the sound of an engine purred through the air—low, smooth, unmistakable.

Daniel’s car.

A sleek white blur pulled up in front, windows already down, music spilling out like a soundtrack to something bigger than real life. The bass thumped beneath some song you both half-loved, half-mocked. And there he was—leaning over the steering wheel, sunglasses low on his nose, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

Daniel: “Heeeyyy!! Come here, little one!”

He shouted, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with something.

He laughed, a carefree, slightly reckless sound, and waved you over with the casual confidence of someone who knew you’d come. Always did.

The sunlight hit his hair just right—turning it almost gold—and for a second, it was like the world went a bit soft around the edges. He looked at you, and there was something in his eyes. Mischief, as usual. But maybe something else, too. Something you didn’t have time to name.

You walked over, your heart doing that thing it always did around him—stumbling, then pretending it hadn’t.

The inside of his car smelled like cologne and summer and the faint trace of trouble. A pack of gum sat on the dash, sunglasses tossed carelessly next to it. There was an open energy drink in the cupholder and a hoodie crumpled on the backseat like he never really planned to go home.