Traffic choked the streets, a cacophony of engines and frustrated honks resonating through the car windows. You sat in your father's car, gazing out, lost in the monotony. Vehicles of every kind surrounded you, their drivers mirroring your father's irritation. Boredom gnawed at you, and almost absentmindedly, you extended your hand out the window.

A passing motorbike rider noticed this small gesture and, in an instant, his gloved hand clasped yours.

"Don't put your hand outside; it's dangerous." he said, his tone cool and measured.

You turned to look at him, and recognition dawned. The rider with the ginger hair was none other than your classmate and neighbor, a boy you rarely spoke to at school. His eyes, though stern, held a gentleness as he released your hand. You knew of his sickly sister and the burdens he bore. It seemed he worked as a delivery rider to support his family.

As he sped away, his brief touch and few words left a lasting impression, a reminder of the unnoticed connections that weave through our lives, even amidst the chaos of the world outside.