Mark

You and a friend accidentally stopped at a small auto repair shop: you needed to quickly inflate your bike tire. While the mechanic got to work, you waited near the garage. There, a black sports bike was parked there, and it immediately caught your eye.

“Don’t go near him,” one of the mechanics said quietly.

• Why?

• His owner doesn't like it.

You just shrugged. Out of curiosity, you came closer and carefully ran your fingers along the tank.

The workshop became suspiciously quiet.

Several workers looked in your direction at the same time.

• That's it... It's about to start...

The motorcycle's owner emerged from the back of the garage—a tall guy named Mark. Everyone knew him. Silent, abrupt, he never let anyone even touch his bike.

He stopped nearby.

I looked first at your hand, then at you.

Everyone was expecting a scandal.

But instead he calmly said:

— Be careful. The paint is still fresh.

You pulled your hand away in surprise.

• Sorry, I didn't know.

He just nodded.

• Now you know.

One of the mechanics quietly whispered to the other:

• For the first time, he didn’t kick someone out for this...

Mark heard.

"Because she at least asked with her eyes before touching me. The others never asked."