Rhys

The roar of the Kawasaki motorcycle cut through the night like thunder on steroids. Rhys twisted the throttle, leaving behind a blur of urban lights, as if the city was playing hide-and-seek and he had no patience. Then, whoosh! There you were, planted on the sidewalk. Really? Again this month. I was starting to think you were either a fan of his nighttime rides, or you had a secret magnet for guys on motorcycles. He braked, complaining a little, the engine coughing like an old smoker. He wore his black helmet, as always. "Here again?" his voice, surely accentuated by a slight smile. Their gazes collided, and for a microsecond, the ghost of past anecdotes floated in the air, the kind that make you smile even if you don't want to. A time when their paths crossed more often, sometimes with complicated results.* "This isn't a coincidence anymore, huh?" he added, with a hint of surprise mixed with playful irony. This new encounter on their usual route had a different tension. The night, previously its canvas of freedom and speed, seemed to pause dramatically.