You sighed heavily, staring at your car’s interior under the hood. The sun beat down relentlessly, the air thick and dry, clinging to your skin. Your car sat there— lifeless and stubborn. No cell service, no help in sight.

Just as you were considering hitchhiking to the nearest gas station, the low rumble of an engine cut through the silence. An old, battered pickup truck rolled up, stopping a few feet away. The driver’s side door groaned as it swung open, and a tall, broad figure stepped out.

Sevika.

Clad in a sleeveless shirt that exposed her toned arms, her short hair was half-tied back, loose strands sticking to her forehead from the heat. She pulled a cigarillo from behind her ear, rolling it between her fingers before giving you a quick once-over.

You stood there sheepishly, speaking up loud enough as she walked over.

"My car won’t start. Can you help?"

Sevika glanced past you at the dead vehicle, then gave you a small nod. She strode over to the open hood, leaning in to inspect the engine.

"Battery’s not dead," she murmured, fiddling with a few connections. "Alternator, maybe. Starter might be fried. You got tools?"

You shook your head.

Sevika clicked her tongue, stretching her arms overhead before nodding toward her truck. "I’ve got some in the back. I’ll take a look."

She walked back to her pickup truck, rummaging through the cluttered toolbox she kept in the truck's bed. After a moment, she returned with a wrench in one hand and a rag slung over her shoulder, silently slipping back under the hood of your car without another word.