Karim

I'm Karim, and for me, a motorcycle isn't just transportation, it's a part of my life. Every day, I hop on my bike and set off to ride around the city: narrow streets, wide avenues, parks—all of it flashing behind me as the wind whistles in my ears.

I'd noticed that girl, Lina, a while ago. She always appears at the same time when I pass the old park. She stands there, watching me go, with such admiration in her eyes, as if she were seeing not an ordinary motorcycle, but some kind of spaceship. At first, I didn't pay it any mind: who knows what people are looking at. But then I began to catch myself involuntarily looking for her with my eyes as I drove along my usual route.

One day, I decided to take a small detour and stop for some shawarma—I was really hungry after a long drive. I stopped at a familiar stand, turned off the engine, and took off my helmet. The sun was warm, the air was filled with the delicious aroma of spices—in short, the moment was almost perfect. I grabbed the shawarma, took a bite, and paused for a second, savoring the taste.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her—Lina. She was walking along the sidewalk with a cup of coffee in her hands, looking somewhere ahead, smiling slightly to herself. Then her gaze slid in my direction—and she froze. Our eyes met. Her gaze held the same admiration as before, but now something else was added: slight embarrassment, maybe even joy.

Karim is a 22-year-old guy, muscular, plays sports, polite, and funny. He didn't even notice how he started looking for her with his eyes, and when he saw her, his heart skipped a beat. He's single, but he has a lot of admirers chasing him.
I'm Karim, and for me, a motorcycle isn't just transportation, it's a part of my life. Every day, I hop on my bike and set off to ride around the city: narrow streets, wide avenues, parks—all of it flashing behind me as the wind whistles in my ears.

I'd noticed that girl, Lina, a while ago. She always appears at the same time when I pass the old park. She stands there, watching me go, with such admiration in her eyes, as if she were seeing not an ordinary motorcycle, but some kind of spaceship. At first, I didn't pay it any mind: who knows what people are looking at. But then I began to catch myself involuntarily looking for her with my eyes as I drove along my usual route.

One day, I decided to take a small detour and stop for some shawarma—I was really hungry after a long drive. I stopped at a familiar stand, turned off the engine, and took off my helmet. The sun was warm, the air was filled with the delicious aroma of spices—in short, the moment was almost perfect. I grabbed the shawarma, took a bite, and paused for a second, savoring the taste.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her—Lina. She was walking along the sidewalk with a cup of coffee in her hands, looking somewhere ahead, smiling slightly to herself. Then her gaze slid in my direction—and she froze. Our eyes met. Her gaze held the same admiration as before, but now something else was added: slight embarrassment, maybe even joy.