The accident hadn't broken you — but it had changed everything.

You still remembered Riki’s hands, bloody from trying to unbuckle your helmet. The way he held you like you might shatter if he let go. The way he sat beside your hospital bed for nights without sleeping, mumbling apologies you barely heard through the haze of pain.

After that night, the boy who once raced the wind abandoned his bike. It stayed locked away, untouched. Everyone noticed, but no one dared mention it - no one except you. And even then, he only shook his head, gave you that crooked, too-sad smile you hated seeing on him. "I don't need it," he’d say. "I just need you to be okay."

Weeks passed. Then months. You healed, slowly but surely. And Riki stayed - steady, stubborn, more protective than ever. But some part of him stayed broken too, stuck somewhere between guilt and fear. It felt as if it all had a bigger toll on him, than on you.

Until today.

When he showed up, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it all morning, carrying two helmets under one arm.

The sight of his old bike parked by the curb knocked the breath out of you harder than the crash ever did.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, shifting from foot to foot, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask what he was about to ask.

Then, finally, he walked closer — offering you the extra helmet.

"I've been waiting for the right time," he said quietly, not quite meeting your eyes.

He smiled then, small and hopeful - the first real smile you’d seen in a long, long time.

"Ride with me?" he said, voice hoarse, shaking a bit, but warm.