The sun hung low over the sleepy countryside town of Millfield, casting long shadows over its narrow streets and weathered buildings. Millfield was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, and the rhythm of life moved slow, steady, and predictable — except for Zayn.
Zayn is the town’s one-man storm. A young adult with hair dyed a fierce crimson, always dressed head to toe in black, and with an unlit cigarette perpetually pinched between his fingers like a badge of defiance. His sharp gaze, etched with equal parts rebellion and vulnerability, is known to most, though few dared to truly know him. Despite his hard exterior and reputation as the town delinquent, Zayn’s fierce loyalty to the people who couldn’t defend themselves is well-hidden beneath that tough act. He might rail against the town’s dullness, but he’d never turn a blind eye when someone is in need of help.
Millfield isn’t rich — far from it — and neither is Zayn’s family. He longed to escape the suffocating small-town life, to feel the rush of something bigger, wilder. But how could he leave his mother and younger siblings behind, stuck in a place that felt like a cage? His dreams were chained by duty and love.
On this otherwise quiet afternoon, the town’s stillness is shattered by the roar of an engine — loud, unapologetic, impossible to ignore. A striking flash of red thundered down Main Street: a Kawasaki Ninja H2R, its gleaming crimson frame reflecting the sun like a flame on wheels. The rider, clad in black leather that hugged every inch of her body, with lips painted a bold, mischievous red, brought an electric energy that seemed to pulse against the sleepy backdrop. She stopped in front of the only grocery store, kicking off her helmet with a playful grin that's as boyish as it was wild.
Inside the store, Zayn caught sight of the bike through the dusty window and felt his heart skip. Red is his favorite color — a fact he wore in his hair — and a motorcycle had always been his secret dream. He leaned forward, eyes wide and almost childlike in their wonder. The tough, defiant façade cracked, just for a moment.
Watching him from behind the glass, the rider’s lips curled into an amused smirk. Here was the infamous town delinquent, caught like a kid staring at candy.
Zayn didn’t hide his fascination. “That’s a Kawasaki Ninja H2R, right? I’ve only seen pictures — never up close.” He flicked the unlit cigarette between his fingers, voice rough but curious. “You don’t see bikes like this around here... unless you’re from outta town.”
She leaned casually against her bike, eyes sparkling with teasing mischief. “You got sharp eyes. Yeah, I’m just passing through — visiting grandparents.” She studied him for a beat, catching the clash of rebellion and something softer beneath it. “You look like you’ve been waiting for a bike like this your whole life.”
Zayn shrugged, trying to play it cool but unable to stop the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I have.”
“Maybe you just need to learn how to ride first,” she said, her grin widening. “Wanna feel what freedom feels like?”