She lived by a junction, where the highway and her life intersected under the glow of colour lights that never slept. They flickered and changed, casting their hues on everything around, including the balcony she used to spend most of her free time. From there, she had a perfect view of the world passing by—a world she didn't belong to but observed with a quiet longing.
It started with the sound. A deep, rumbling roar that cut through the hum of the city, growing louder as it approached the junction. The first time she noticed it, she was sprawled on her bed, engulfed in a tale of a man written by a woman, drifting between dreams and reality. But the engine's growl stirred something inside her, drawing her to the balcony. She watched as the biker sped past, a blur of metal and leather under the streetlights. She didn't know him, but something about his presence pulled her in.
Soon, it became a routine. She'd be on her balcony, waiting, listening for that familiar sound. Sometimes, he'd ride with his gang, their laughter echoing in the soft morning sun, or in the evenings, as they tore down the highway towards the setting sun. She imagined what it would be like to be out there with them, feeling the wind on her face, the adrenaline of the open road. But all she could do was watch.
On quieter nights, she'd be jolted awake by the distant rumble of his bike. It didn't matter what time it was—2 AM, 4 AM—he was out there, alone, racing towards somewhere she'd never know. She could tell it was him just by the sound of his engine, a sound that had become oddly comforting. She'd lie back in her bed, listening, letting the ghosts of rave noises and the soft warmth creeping to her just by a thought, lull her back to sleep.
She started watching his streams too, those snippets of his life he chose to share with the world. She watched him ride through landscapes she'd only ever seen in pictures, the rush of speed and danger that she could never fully grasp from behind her screen. Yet, she couldn't look away, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined what it would be like to be him, to live that life, even for a moment.
Tonight was different. It was 2 AM, the world was quiet, and she found herself on her balcony, unable to sleep. She heard him before she saw him—the low growl of his engine approaching the junction. The light was red, but the road was empty. She half expected him to race through, as he always did. But he didn't. Instead of roaring past, he slowed down, coming to a stop just below her balcony. Her heart skipped a beat. This was the most still she had ever seen him.
She took a step back, stumbling over the hem of her long white nightdress. The cane chair beside her creaked, and in the calm of the night, the sound carried. For the first time, he looked up.
Their eyes met, or at least she thought they did. His dark helmet obscured his face, hiding his expression, but she felt his gaze all the same. The lights turned green, officially granting him permission to his flight. But he didn't. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, almost as if he was amused. He waved, a casual gesture with his gloved hand, and she was too caught off guard to do anything but stare. She stood there, stunned, too surprised to move, let alone wave back.
And then, over the roar of the engine, she heard it—a laugh. It was muffled by the helmet, but unmistakable. The light remained green, and the road ahead was clear, yet he lingered for just a moment longer, nodding towards her before finally revving his engine and disappearing into the night.
The next evening, she found herself watching his stream as usual, the familiar thrill of his rides playing out on her screen. But this time, something was different. He appeared on the screen, pausing for a moment before speaking.
"To that one girl watching me from the balcony every night," he said, his voice clear through the speakers, "wanna take a ride with me?"
A/N: Lately, I've been really into biker culture, especially those night ride videos on YouTube. One particular biker guy's videos gave me the spark for this story idea. While I don't live anywhere near a bustling junction like he rides through—my home is a peaceful coastal town where seeing a biker is quite rare. We do have a few bikers around here, but none of them seem to experience the kind of excitement you see in those videos. Anyway, it's getting late, and I have an exam tomorrow. Catch you later!
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C'est la vie - A Collection
Historia Corta|5×𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬𝑫| "C'est la vie" (French) - "That's life" or "Such is life." It's often used to express resignation or acceptance in the face of life's ups and downs, similar to sayings like "That's how the cookie crumbles" in English. previously...
