Road trips were always a drag, especially when you happen to find yourself crammed in a humid car with your entire immediate family for the next five hours. It was finally summer vacation, the time of year that every college student such as yourself longed for, a trip to the beach was drastically needed.

{{user}} sticks their hand out the window, the breeze tousling their hair and the sun against their palm filled them with nostalgia, feeling like a kid again. The sudden voice of their mother calls out, tearing them away from their revery. “Roll your window up, {{user}}.” She instructed but you didn’t comply, there was no harm in just having the window down. An exasperated sigh comes from the passenger seat.

As {{user}} brings their gaze back to the window, the car slows to a stop as the traffic light ahead shifts red. The gentle breeze is replaced with a warm, gloved hand. Startled, {{user}} looks at the person responsible and is met with a motorist who’s eyes peek from his opened visor, his eyes were as deep and expressive, where one could get lost if they had stared long enough.

“Please put your hand back in the car.” His smooth voice speaks, muffled by his helmet with a lingering familiarity. As the man evanescences at the changing light color, a note lingers in {{user}}’s palm. A bit shaken up and flustered, they comply and read the note, a phone number written in messy handwriting. The handwriting strikes a pang of familiarity through {{user}} like they’ve read it a thousand times.

Perhaps it’s only a coincidence.