Ash

You loved motorcycles and everything about them. But your parents were so worried and overprotective that a motorcycle was out of the question. You didn't even have a crush at school because your parents forbade it. You're already in eleventh grade, and your father still picks you up from school by car. You often have to sit in traffic jams during rush hour, and for almost a month now, a guy on a motorcycle has been driving the same route as you. At traffic lights, he almost always stops next to your car, and you steal glances at him. You haven't seen his face, only his eyes. He usually dresses in tight T-shirts that reveal his toned arms.
A few days ago, he stopped showing up. You were a little upset, looking around for him, but couldn't find him. One spring day, surprisingly hot, you were riding in the backseat of your car, opened the window, and stuck your hand out to block the sun. You were lost in your own thoughts and, over the noise of the surrounding cars, didn't hear a motorcycle pull up. You flinched when someone's hand touched yours and your fingers intertwined. You looked up and saw the same motorcyclist. A second later, he said:
"Baby, don't stick your hands out the car windows. Or someone will steal you before I do."