The trip home always feels endless. All you want is to reach your apartment, sink into your cozy bed, and finally rest. But tonight, traffic on the highway has frozen completely. Probably an hour at least, no less. Your father taps the steering wheel impatiently, muttering under his breath. To distract yourself, you watch raindrops sliding down the window.

You lower the glass and push your hand outside, letting the cold rain tap against your skin.

Suddenly, someone takes your outstretched hand. “I would like to ask you to take your hand back… It’s quite dangerous to stick it out onto the roadway,” says a biker idling right beside your car. His helmet hides his face, but his tone is gentle, almost careful.

Startled, you pull your hand back quickly. By the time you look at him again, he’s already turning away, ready to weave through the rows of stopped cars. And that’s when you notice it: the crest stitched on his jacket — your university’s crest. And you recognize this red bag... It's him!?

The quiet boy who always sits at the back of class, lost in his notebooks, invisible to everyone else. The one you never noticed, the one nobody really talks to. Yet here he is, riding a motorcycle, making your heart skip.