Chapter two : The Ride
717 Words
Three days later, the sun returned like it had never left—golden and unapologetic.
Lia stood outside the bookstore, shielding her eyes with a dog-eared paperback as Jay pulled up on his motorbike. The engine growled like something untamed, a sleek black machine with chrome edges that caught the light like a blade.
She’d only agreed to this because he’d smirked and said, *“You look like someone who’s never done anything reckless.”*
She hated that he was right.
Now, as he pulled off his helmet and held out a second one to her, she hesitated.
“You sure it’s safe?” she asked, her fingers already curling around the helmet anyway.
Jay shrugged. “Safe is boring.”
“I like boring,” she lied.
“No, you don’t,” he said with a grin that lit up his whole face. “You just don’t remember how to like wild.”
He was right again. She hated that even more.
She climbed on, stiff at first. He leaned back just enough to speak near her ear. “Hold on.”
“To what?” she muttered.
Then he kicked the engine to life, and she didn’t have time to ask again.
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The world became wind.
It wasn’t just fast—it was *freedom*, stretched across the horizon. The coastal road curved like a secret, waves crashing far below, trees blurring into streaks of green. The roar of the engine was thunder in her chest, and still, it was his laughter that rose above everything—deep, reckless, alive.
Lia clung to him, not because she had to, but because suddenly she wanted to. The back of his jacket was warm from the sun, the muscles beneath steady, like he’d done this a hundred times and never crashed.
He turned off the highway without warning, taking a narrow dirt road that twisted through the cliffs. The ride grew rougher, bumpier, more alive.
“Where are we going?!” she shouted over the wind.
“You’ll see!”
The road ended at a clearing with a view of the sea so wide it felt like the edge of the world. He cut the engine, and silence swept in like a soft tide.
Lia slid off, breathless, hair tangled, heart in her throat.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think I just met death and shook hands with it.”
He laughed and pulled off his helmet. “That’s the fun part.”
They sat on the cliff’s edge, the sea shimmering below. The sun began to dip, casting everything in copper and honey. Lia hugged her knees and looked at him sideways.
“You do this a lot?”
“Ride? Yeah. Brings me peace.”
She nodded. “I get it now. It’s like flying, except you’re just crazy enough to keep the wheels on the ground.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “You’re different when you’re out here.”
“How?”
“Less afraid.”
She swallowed. The truth was, she *was* afraid—of the blood tests she’d skipped, the bruise still blooming across her thigh for no reason, of falling for someone who seemed like he could disappear with the next storm.
But right now, with the sky burning gold and the wind still clinging to her skin, none of that mattered.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out the poetry book she’d recommended—creased now, corners bent. “I’ve been reading it,” he said. “Even without pictures.”
She laughed. “And?”
“It’s stupid.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“Stupid,” he repeated, tapping the cover, “how much it makes sense.”
Then he opened to a page, cleared his throat, and read aloud:
> *“I have loved in silence / where no eyes could see / but if wind had ears, / it would know it was you.”*
His voice was low, rough on the edges—but steady.
When he looked up, her eyes were glassy. Not from the ride. Not just.
“Jay…” she whispered, unsure of what to say next.
But he reached for her hand and said nothing.
Because sometimes, silence said everything.
- Writer
