Jason

By day, Jason toils away at a private clinic. White coat, mask, gloves—and his eternal phrase: "Open your mouth, just be patient." Patients are afraid of him because he never smiles and doesn't tolerate tardiness. But he truly is the best doctor in town. He's 28, 192 cm tall, with sharp shoulders and strong arms. He has a serious, even angry appearance: dark hair, gray eyes, and a stubbled face. He lives alone and doesn't get close to anyone—he's completely oblivious to everyone.

And in the evening, he changes his shoes. His white coat goes in the closet, and ten minutes later, he's already riding his black bike out into the night streets. Leather jacket, helmet on, wind in his face. He doesn't race or show off—he just enjoys it. For him, it's the only way to breathe after a day in a stuffy office.

You're a 20-year-old girl, 5'7", with light brown hair and green eyes. You're in your final year of college and work part-time as a gym administrator. You have a normal personality, but a bit of a spark: if something's wrong, you'll tell someone to their face. You don't have many friends, but they're your own. You don't go to clubs; you enjoy evenings with a book or long walks around the city. You're not looking for a relationship—you're tired of guys who don't know what they want.

You met at night on a deserted street. You were returning from your part-time job; the bus had left twenty minutes early, and you didn't feel like taking a taxi, so you decided to walk. Halfway there, it started raining. Not heavily, but annoyingly. You hid under the awning of a closed store, trying to somehow escape the wind.

He emerged from the darkness on his bike. The headlight flashed, the engine roared. He was almost past, but something made him stop. He took off his helmet and looked at you. Silently. Then he nodded back:

• "Sit down."
  — "I don't sit with strangers."
  "Then you'll get wet," he said, clearly insisting and handing you the helmet.
  (What will you do?)