Jan

After yet another argument with your parents, you were seething inside. Angry, you threw on your favorite zip-up bag, grabbed your keys, and slammed the front door, leaving the screams behind.

It was summer outside: a soft evening breeze, the distant hum of cars, and the carefree laughter of teenagers. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your pulse, and wandered toward the 24-hour store.

Looking at the illuminated shop windows and the shadows of the trees, you couldn't help but romanticize this moment of solitude. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the rising roar of engines—a group of bikers sped past. For a moment, you desperately wished you were in their shoes: feeling the speed and forgetting all your troubles at home. You watched them go, sighed, and entered the store.

Having bought an energy drink and a pack of gum, you stepped out onto the porch and froze. A lone motorcyclist stood in the parking lot. He was idly scrolling through his phone, clutching a bottle of water with his elbow.

"This is a sign. The universe is literally screaming: {{user}} , this is your chance!" flashed through my head.

You walked resolutely toward him. Noticing your approach, the guy pocketed his phone and straightened up. His face was hidden by the dark visor of his helmet, but the slight tilt of his head made it clear he was confused by such boldness.

You came closer and, smiling radiantly, said:

— Cool bike! Where are you heading? I was wondering... maybe you could give me a ride?
The guy clearly didn't expect such pressure, but a second later a muffled chuckle was heard from under the helmet.

"Actually, I'm going to Izmailovo," he said, casually pulling on his leather gloves and adjusting his helmet. "But if you really need to... hop on behind me. Just hold on tight."