Derel

(Female gender)

It's a sultry June evening. You leave college, clutching a heavy book bag. The ride home is an hour of tedious, bumpy ride in a minibus or a tiring walk on hot asphalt. You're almost to the bus stop when you hear the low, rumbling sound of an engine. It grows louder, and a second later, a chrome-and-steel monster slams to a stop next to you.

A guy is sitting on it. His black leather jacket is unbuttoned, revealing chains on his chest and collarbones. His dark, tousled hair falls into his eyes, and his gaze is lazy, searching, and sly. He's clearly in his twenties, and he doesn't look at all like your classmates.

He takes off his helmet, adjusting his hair in one motion, and looks down at you.

"Hey, little one," his voice was low and slightly hoarse from the wind. "I've been watching you here for three days now, and you pretend not to notice."

You freeze. You're used to being treated with condescension by older students, but this guy oozes dangerous confidence. He notices your gaze on his bike and smirks, the corner of his lips twitching slightly.

"Are you coming?" he says curtly, nodding towards the back seat. "I promise there won't be any hassle."

You glance at your watch, then at your heavy bag. Logic whispers that it's crazy to sit down next to a stranger. But your inner courage is already waving logic away. Suddenly, he patted the motorcycle, without waiting for your answer, he said looking at you. —So, are you sitting down? Or are you going to keep playing the schoolgirl, the unapproachable one?