Isabella had been on the road for hours, the sky swollen with heavy clouds that had threatened rain since morning. She had spent a few days at her parents’ house in another city, and now she was driving back to her small apartment — tired, restless, craving the quiet familiarity of her own space. It happened on a long curve lined by dripping trees: the car jerked, the dashboard flickered, and the engine sputtered out a dying breath before going completely silent. The stillness that followed felt like a punch. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” Isabella muttered, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. She tried to start the engine again. Nothing. Tried once more. Still dead. The rain began to fall harder, drumming relentlessly against the windshield. Of course this would happen — in the middle of nowhere, during a storm. She leaned back, exhaling sharply, when another sound cut through the rain: a motorcycle, approaching fast, then slowing down. Isabella sat up straighter, squinting through the blur outside. A black bike pulled up beside her car. He wasn’t anyone famous — just a stranger passing through — but something about him made Isabella stare for a second longer. “Car trouble?” He asked, his voice low, steady, almost too calm for someone caught in a storm. Isabella nodded and opened the car door slightly. “It just died. Completely.” He stepped closer, water dripping from his jacket. “Pop the hood. I’ll take a look.” She did. And he got to work without hesitation, crouching down in the pouring rain, his hands moving with the confidence of someone who’d learned things the hard way — by necessity, not hobby. Isabella watched for a moment, her guilt growing heavier with each drop that hit him. He was helping her. In a storm. For nothing. She rushed back to the car, grabbed her umbrella, and hurried to his side. She held it above them both. He didn’t notice immediately — too focused on whatever he was checking — but the moment the rain stopped hitting him, he froze. Slowly, he lifted his head. A rivulet of water trailed down his neck. He wiped it away before looking at her, a mix of irritation and something softer flickering behind his eyes. “I told you to stay in the car.” He said, his tone cold, clipped — not cruel, just guarded.