The next morning, sunlight spilled over the city, warming the rooftops and painting the streets in gold. Both of them woke early, eager to meet as planned.
He was already on the road, the hum of his car steady beneath him, when a sudden blur crossed his path—a girl running at full speed.
The screech of tires filled the air.
"Oh no!" he exclaimed, slamming the brakes.
His heart pounded as he jumped out of the car. The girl lay sprawled on the pavement, her breathing uneven. He knelt beside her, his voice low and urgent.
"What's her name? …Doesn't matter. Just get her to the hospital," he muttered to himself, scooping her into his arms.
As he carried her to the car, something caught his eye—the faint gleam of a badge clutched in her hand.
"Champion…" he whispered, recognition dawning. "But why was she running? Is she alright? The first time she ran past me, and now she's dodged my car. Is she into racing… or running from something?"
He drove fast, glancing at her pale face in the passenger seat.
At the hospital, he paced the corridor until the doctor emerged. "Is she alright now, Doctor?" he asked, his voice tense.
"Yes," the doctor replied, "she's safe, but unconscious. What's your relationship with her?"
"I'm… her friend," he said after a brief pause, the lie slipping out before he could think.