Vlas

Rain lashed against your helmet, turning the world into a blur of gray noise. Your argument still simmered in your chest, angry and prickly. You pressed the gas harder, driving away from the city, his words still ringing in your ears.

A turn. A wet road. And a sudden flash of headlights flying towards you. The world turned upside down, shattering into a million icy shards. And then—silence.

Vlas was freaking out, pacing the apartment in circles. Resentment was choking him, but anxiety was already chilling his back. You left on that damn bike in such a downpour... He turned on the TV to drown out his thoughts. The news was showing a breaking news report: a highway closed, a cordon. A close-up of a mangled bike slammed into a barrier.

My heart skipped a beat. It was your helmet on the asphalt. Your bike.

The announcer said: “The girl is in serious condition, doctors are already providing assistance.”

He didn't hear the host's voice. He was already clutching the car keys, horrified to realize that the most terrifying moment in his life wasn't the moment you left, but this moment, when you might never return. And the last thing he said to you wasn't "I love you," but angry, empty words.