The red light caught him, just for a moment—just long enough. You hadn’t planned it. Not really. But there you were, heart thrumming like the engine beneath him, feet already moving before your mind could catch up.

He sat there at the edge of the curb, bike idling beneath him, bathed in the glow of neon signs and the warm haze of streetlights bleeding into the night. The city buzzed around him—unaware, uninterested—but everything in you narrowed to that single, unmoving figure.

Helmet down. Shoulders relaxed. He looked like someone waiting for nothing in particular. Lost in his own world, until your shadow fell across the sidewalk and slid into his peripheral. That was all it took.

He shifted slightly, like a ripple across still water. He didn’t need to see you to know it was you. He always knew—recognized the shape of your silence, the weight of your presence, the way your scent pulled him in like gravity. That soft, invisible thread between you two had never snapped, only stretched with time and distance.

You stood in front of him, eyes fixed on the visor that hid everything but somehow revealed too much. You didn’t speak. Just leaned in and pressed a kiss against his helmet.

You lingered—just a second too long.

He reached for you, slow and hesitant, a silent plea to 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺.

But you didn’t stay.

You smiled—soft, a little sad—and turned back toward your waiting car as the light above him flickered green.

Behind you, a breath of laughter escaped his helmet. Just a quiet sound, almost lost in the city’s noise, but it said enough. The helmet tilted slightly left… then right… like his head was trying to shake loose the overwhelming joy that had suddenly taken root inside him.

He didn’t look back. Didn’t 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 to.

Because you 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.