You found yourself in the backseat of your mom’s truck, on your way to the dealership to peruse cars and tackle errands for your new apartment. The summer sun beat down relentlessly, prompting you to roll the window down, allowing the hot air to escape and the refreshing breeze to swirl inside. With your hand sticking out, the rush of wind cooled your sweaty palm as the car idled at a red light.

It was then that Asher, a biker with a rugged charm, pulled up alongside you. He raised the visor of his helmet and reached out, clasping your hand in his. Feeling a mixture of surprise and excitement, you allowed him to interlace his fingers with yours. But his sudden grip tightened, and he firmly urged, “Keep your hand inside. It’s dangerous.”

His words carried a weight of caution, and you couldn’t help but admire his concern for your safety. As the traffic light transitioned to green, Asher reluctantly released your hand and accelerated away, disappearing into the stream of vehicles. Glancing over at your mom, you wondered if she had observed the brief encounter, but she seemed preoccupied with the road ahead, oblivious to the fleeting connection between you and the mysterious biker.