Chapter 3: A Collision of Fates
1076 Words
The wind whispered warnings through the trees, rustling the fallen leaves that littered the college grounds. The sky, once painted in soft hues of orange and pink, was now overshadowed by the thick, looming presence of storm clouds. The distant rumble of thunder echoed, as if foreshadowing an impending battle—one unseen yet inevitable.
Hannah Carter didn’t fear storms.
She had faced far greater ones.
Clutching her Bible tightly against her chest, she walked toward the library, her long skirt swaying with each step. She was supposed to meet Lorie there, but her friend had been running late. So, for now, she walked alone.
There was a weight in the air—a tension she couldn’t explain.
Then she heard it.
Laughter.
Cruel. Mocking.
She slowed her steps.
Ahead, just outside the library doors, stood a group of students. A few guys, clad in dark jackets, their postures reeking of arrogance. Their voices were loud, their laughter sharp against the quiet evening.
And at the center of it all—Dylan Harris.
Hannah froze.
His presence was suffocating. Not because she feared him, but because he carried something heavy—anger, hatred, something deeper than just rebellion.
He stood with his arms crossed, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, watching her like a predator who had finally cornered his prey.
Hannah knew what this was.
This was a challenge.
She had heard the rumors—that he despised her. That he had tried to bribe the school owner just to keep her from enrolling. That he found her faith offensive, ridiculous, laughable.
And after their last encounter, she knew one thing for certain—he didn’t just hate the idea of her. He hated her presence.
Yet here they were again.
Fate wasn’t done with them.
One of the guys in his group stepped forward before she could react.
In a swift motion, he snatched the Bible from her arms.
The world seemed to tilt.
The familiar weight in her hands—gone.
Lorie, who had just arrived behind Hannah, gasped. "Hey! Give that back!"
Hannah’s fingers twitched as if trying to grasp the air where her Bible had been.
The boy who took it flipped through the pages carelessly, pretending to read. He chuckled under his breath.
“Oh, look at this. Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life…’” His voice dripped with mockery. “Hannah, do you eat bread for breakfast or just this book?”
The group erupted in laughter.
Dylan didn’t laugh.
He was watching her—waiting for her to break.
Would she fight back? Would she scream, snatch it, lose that irritatingly calm demeanor?
Hannah slowly lifted her gaze.
And to Dylan’s annoyance—her face remained unreadable.
“Please,” she said softly. “Give it back.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Please?”
Hannah met his gaze. “What more should I say?”
His jaw clenched.
The wind picked up, swirling around them, the storm threatening to break.
“Tell me something.” Dylan took a step closer. “Where’s your God now?”
Hannah didn’t respond.
“Why doesn’t He stop this?” His voice was edged with something almost… desperate. “If He’s so powerful, so good, why doesn’t He come down here and take it back for you?”
Still, she said nothing.
The guy holding the Bible laughed again and raised it high, fingers gripping the pages like he was about to tear them apart.
Lorie’s hands clenched. “Don’t you dare.”
Hannah finally moved.
Not in panic. Not in fear.
But with purpose.
She reached forward, gently placing her hand on the guy’s arm.
And then, she smiled.
“If you’re going to read it,” she said, her voice steady, “at least start with John 3:16.”
The laughter stopped.
The boy stiffened under her touch.
Dylan felt something shift inside him.
That verse.
He knew that verse.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son…
His mother used to whisper it to him at night.
Before she died.
Before everything went black.
He hated that verse.
He hated that she dared to say it.
The guy scoffed but—he didn’t tear the pages. Instead, he shoved the Bible back into her hands and muttered, “Whatever.”
Hannah hugged it close, her gaze never leaving Dylan’s.
And in that moment, he realized—
He had lost.
But he wasn’t done yet.
Not even close.
---
The storm finally broke.
The rain came down fast, drenching everything in sight.
Hannah and Lorie ran toward the dormitory, their skirts soaked, their hair sticking to their faces.
Lorie was fuming. “I swear, I’m going to punch that guy one day.”
Hannah let out a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t.”
Lorie huffed. “Okay, maybe not. But I wanted to.”
Then—
A screech.
Tires. Brakes failing.
A heartbeat later, they saw it.
A motorcycle. Skidding. Losing control.
Hannah barely had time to process what was happening before the bike collided with the pavement—the rider thrown off like a ragdoll.
Dylan.
Everything slowed.
The sound of metal scraping against asphalt. The gasps of students watching from a distance.
And then—silence.
Dylan’s body lay motionless on the cold, wet pavement.
For the first time that night—Hannah felt fear.
“Dylan!”
Her feet moved before her mind could even catch up.
One second, she was standing beside Lorie.
The next—she was running straight toward him.
She dropped to her knees beside him, rainwater soaking through her clothes.
His breathing was shallow. His face—pale, wet, streaked with rain and blood.
Hannah pressed trembling fingers against his chest, searching for any sign of life.
Lorie hovered behind her. “Hannah, we need to get help!”
Hannah barely heard her.
Because in that moment, she did the only thing she knew how to do.
She prayed.
“Lord, please… please don’t let him die.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
She didn’t know why her heart clenched so painfully.
She didn’t know why she cared.
All she knew was that Dylan Harris—the boy who hated her, who wanted to break her—was now lying helpless in front of her.
And all she wanted…
Was for him to live.
- Writer
