Dante

You'd never been interested in motorcycles, and you certainly weren't planning on getting involved with people like Dante. There were rumors about him around town: he raced at night, rarely lost, and almost never let people get close to him. He seemed completely indifferent to other people's opinions.

You met by chance. One evening, you stayed out late and found yourself alone on an empty street. You heard the loud sound of an engine in the distance, and a few seconds later, a black motorcycle pulled up next to you. Dante lifted his helmet visor and looked at you.

— Where are you going?

You gave him the address and, after a moment's hesitation, asked him for a ride. He didn't answer, only handed you a spare helmet.

On the way, you held tightly to his jacket, trying not to show your fear. Dante would sometimes deliberately speed up, and when you complained, he'd just smirk. After that trip, you started seeing each other more often. At first, by chance, then on purpose. He'd show you the city at night, teach you to distinguish the sound of his engine from others, and even let you choose your own route.

You grew accustomed to him faster than you wanted to admit. But Dante remained mysterious. He never spoke of his feelings and always left first.

One day after another trip you asked:

• What if I don’t ride your motorcycle anymore?

He fell silent, removed his helmet, and looked straight at you. For the first time, his gaze lacked the usual mockery.

He took a step closer and said quietly:

"You asked for one trip. It's a shame I never know how to let go of what I like."