ONE Night On His Bike

The confrontation

After that night on his bike, I thought that was it.

Just one ride. One weird, rainy, rule-breaking ride.

But then I saw him again.

The gas station. 2pm.

He was filling up, helmet tucked under his arm. Gasoline smell and sunlight.

Our eyes met for two seconds.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

He just finished up, got on his bike, and left. Like I was a ghost he wasn’t supposed to see.

I told myself it was a coincidence.

One week later. The laundromat. 11PM.

I was dropping off a bag of clothes because my washing machine died.

And there he was.

Leaning against a dryer, reading something on his phone. Leather jacket. Same jaw. Same quiet energy that makes a room feel smaller.

He looked up when I walked in. Nodded once.

That was all.

I folded my clothes as fast as I could and got out. My heart was being annoying.

Third time. Coffee shop. Morning rush.

I was in line, half asleep, scrolling emails.

I felt him before I saw him.

He was right behind me.

The barista called my name and as I reached for the cup, his hand got there at the same time.

Our fingers brushed.

"Sorry," I mumbled, yanking my hand back like I’d been burned.

He didn’t answer. Just took the black coffee and walked out. No look. No word.

That’s how it was.

Different locations. No real talking.

Just grams of tension. Almost like the universe kept putting us in the same places on purpose.

Until the night my car broke down again.

And this time he was there.

He was the only one there. Leaning on his bike in the rain, waiting.

I dropped my bag. Water soaked my shoes.

"Why are you at every single place that I am?" My voice cracked.

"Are you stalking me?"

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