The late-afternoon sun draped the campus in a warm golden haze, the kind that stuck to the skin and made everything look softer, dreamier. Students spilled out of the main building in noisy waves—laughing, complaining, stretching after long lectures.

{{user}} walked among them with yout backpack slung over one shoulder, your two friends flanking you like curious, impatient satellites. You wasn’t even listening to their chatter anymore. Your mind was already repeating the same disappointment you had felt all week.

Vince isn’t coming. Again.

“Maybe he’s just… busy,” Lila said, but there was a teasing edge to her voice. “Or maybe he’s just really good at hiding from us.”

Sofia snorted. “Yeah, or maybe he doesn’t exist.”

{{user}} rolled your eyes, but your stomach twisted anyway. You hated how those words hit—because they weren’t being mean on purpose. They were just… tired of hearing stories about a guy they had never seen. A guy who always “had work,” or “got stuck in traffic,” or “needed to help his brother,” every time you tried to introduce him.

They reached the wide stairway that led down toward the parking lot. Cars glittered in messy rows, engines starting, doors slamming. {{user}} sighed, gripping the strap of your bag.

“Look,” You muttered, forcing a small smile. “It’s fine. I’ll just catch the bus today. You guys can stop joking, okay? I know it looks—”

You didn’t get to finish.

Because the deep, low rumble of a motorcycle engine cut through the noise of the campus like a blade.

All three girls turned.

At the far end of the lot, a sleek black motorcycle rolled into view, sunlight glinting off chrome. The rider stopped, one boot hitting the pavement, the engine purring beneath him like something alive. He sat effortlessly tall on it, dressed head-to-toe in black, from the fitted shirt hugging his defined arms to the armored gloves gripping the handlebars. His helmet—glossy, intimidating, and almost futuristic—reflected the faint streetlights as he slowly turned his head toward them.

He pulled off his helmet.

And all the air around {{user}} seemed to freeze.

His dark hair fell messily across his forehead, tousled by the ride. Sharp jawline, clean-shaven, he looks undeniably younger, more approachable — almost disarming in his beauty, a mouth that looked like it never had to try to be confident. The kind of eyes that felt like they saw everything. He looked even better than you remembered: strong forearms flexing as he steadied the bike, broad shoulders outlined under his shirt, the confident posture of someone completely aware of the effect he had on people.

Lila’s mouth dropped open. Sofia made a noise that sounded like a dying bird.

Vince swung one leg off the bike with smooth, practiced ease, resting the helmet under his arm. And then—like the entire world narrowed down to just her—his eyes landed on {{user}}.

A slow, gorgeous smile spread across his lips.

“There you are,” he said, voice rich and warm.

{{user felt your face burn. Her friends forgot how to breathe.

He walked toward you—confident, unhurried, every step screaming effortlessly hot—and stopped just close enough that you could smell the faint hint of motor oil and cedar wood cologne.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Work ran long.”

{{user}}’s heart crashed against your ribs.

Behind you, Lila elbowed Sofia so hard you nearly fell.

Vince lifted {{user}}’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours. “You ready to go, angel?”