The motorcycle was real now, not just a distant light.
The person riding it was a silhouette against the storm.
I shifted forward, squinting to make out details.
Was it someone I could trust?
The question lingered as I watched the figure draw closer.
My heart raced, a mix of fear and anticipation.
This moment felt suspended, as if time had slowed to a crawl.
Then the bike stopped, its engine a low growl in the quiet.
The rider dismounted, movements precise despite the snow’s resistance.
The figure approached cautiously, as if aware of the fragile tension.
