POV: you wipe the rain from a bus window and the woman you’re about to meet roars past on a black motorbike.
She rides in black. You arrive in tartan. Two shadows crossing in the London rain.
Her world is ritual, control, leather. Yours is obsession.
A tech bro fakes a license. You steal your late father’s bike. Every ride feels like the last.
You ask if it could be more. She says no. You smile through the helmet.
Traffic stalls. She thinks you’re home. The text reads: “Maybe a relationship wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.”
One second too long. One glance too late. The river takes you instead.
On the bank, your phone still glows. The message unread.