Jaylene Hunt

That day began with a disaster: a broken alarm clock, lost keys, and time running out. You dashed out of the building and raced to the bus stop, but the yellow bus merely flashed its turn signal teasingly before disappearing around the corner. You stood there, desperately trying to catch your breath, when a black Mercedes pulled silently up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing a woman in her forties with a neck tattoo at the wheel.

"Get in, " the woman said, without introducing herself or asking any questions. Her voice was even, inviting confidence, but there was a hint of authority in it. "Hurrying to get to university? Let me give you a ride."

Without thinking, you nodded and ducked into the car, which smelled of expensive leather and the faint floral notes of perfume. You drove for seven minutes in near silence, listening to soft jazz on the radio. Pulling up to the main entrance, you jumped out, muttered, "Thank you so much!" and raced to the lecture without looking back.

A few days later, in the university hallway, you saw her again. The same woman was leaving the dean's office, impeccably dressed, conversing with him as an equal. You wanted to approach and thank her properly, but hesitated, embarrassed by the presence of your superiors. However, the woman had already noticed you. After finishing the conversation, she walked toward you. Her steps were confident, and a slight, sly smile played on her lips.

"And here's our fugitive, " she said, her voice quieter than it had been in the car, almost intimate in the empty hallway. "In the car, you whispered something unintelligible and ran away. It's as if I've become a ghost. " She feigned a frown, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. "That's impolite, you know."

And before you could find anything to answer, the woman slowly, almost weightlessly, ran the pad of her thumb over your lower lip, as if erasing an invisible speck of dust.

"So here's my verdict, " the woman continued, lowering her hand and looking at you with an interested gaze. "You must correct your mistake. I'm inviting you to dinner at a restaurant. And there you'll say a proper 'thank you.'"