It had been a week since I accepted the follow request on Instagram, five days since I sent him a message, three days since Lindsay and I had combed all our high-school yearbooks to find a boy who resembled Mystery Biker’s stature, and one day since I gave up hope of ever seeing him again, as I am completely sure that he has ghosted me.

I walk out of the gas station at 5 a.m., as my shift ended early today. Helga, an older woman who works there in the morning, is here early to oversee the restock, and as I hand over the keys to her, she looks at me funny.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Helga? Do I have something on my face?” I ask, suddenly being conscious of my appearance.

“No, honey, you have nothing but exhaustion on your face. But by the looks of it, I don’t think he minds.” Helga replied and walked away to the supply closet in the back.

“What do you mean by that? Who won't mind?” That’s when I looked out towards pump 4 for the 1^st time in two hours and saw a black motorbike parked in front of it and a man clad in full black leather and an even darker helmet leaning against it, looking at me.

“He is back”, I whisper and try my best to hide my excitement.

I walk out of the store and towards him.

“Why didn’t you text me back?” I asked as I stood in front of him with my hands folded in front of me.

“Aww, did somebody miss me?” he cooed.

I huffed and shook my head, “You beg me to accept your follow request, and when I do and text you back, you ghost me, what sort of behaviour is that?”

He raises a single finger and says, “First of all, I did not beg you; I demanded that you follow me. Secondly, I had been a little preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“Work.”

“What do you do?”

“How about I show you?” he said and extended his hand towards me, hoping I would take it.

I looked at him, then at his motorbike and then again at him, when he waved to someone behind me. I turned around to find Helga pressed to the door, looking at it like a hawk.

Without thinking much, I grabbed his hand, a second later, we both were on his bike, and he took both my hands, wrapping them tightly against his torso.

When I was about to object, he started the motorbike and just the rumble of it under me made me grab onto his leather jacket tighter than before.

And just like that, we left the gas station behind, flying on the road like never before.

The sun was yet to rise, and the roads were dark and deserted. Every time he accelerated the motorbike, I grabbed onto him a little tighter, and the bastard had picked up on it, raising the speed every few minutes.

By the time we stopped, neither did I have an idea how long I had been sitting on the speed machine, nor did I know where we were.

“Where are we?” I asked

“To see the best sun rise in town.”

I looked around, and it seemed we were on a hill, but I had never been to this place before, despite living in this town for years.

Suddenly, he grabbed onto my hips and made me straddle his motorbike again. “Sit. It won't take long for the sun to rise now.” He said as he leaned against his motorbike, too.

“Are you going to see the sunrise from your tinted visor?” I asked and reluctantly lifted the visor, groaning in the process just to be dramatic.

I instantly pulled on his helmet and made him look at me, chocolate brown eyes stared at me in return. Rimmed by thick black eyelashes.

He had beautiful eyes…

“Why don’t you tell me who you are?”

“I told you, you already know me.”

“I don’t, though.”

“You do.”

“I don’t, do you know how many hours Lindsay and I spent scanning each yearbook, just to find you?”

“And did you find me?”

“No, how could I when I knew absolutely nothing about you or how you look?”

I could tell he was smirking under the helmet, and it annoyed me.

“Keep digging, maybe you’ll hit a jackpot.” He teased, and I playfully slapped his bicep, which was so hard he barely moved.

“What will it take for you to tell me who you are?”

Ummm… he pretended to think…

“How about a Nimbus 2001?” I gasped in surprise. This guy knew his books; had he read Harry Potter?

“You need a flying broomstick while you have this?” I pointed down at his motorbike.

“You see, my Motorbike is as fast as the broomstick, but unfortunately, it can't fly.” We both burst out laughing at that.

“If what we did on the road earlier is not counted as flying, then what is?” I asked, and he responded without missing a beat.

“Actual flying.” Which made me laugh even more.

If I knew him in high school, and given the fact that he was how he is today, back then, it would be impossible for me to forget him.

“On a serious note, what would it take?” I asked again, and he turned to look at me.

“I kiss.” He answered. And just then the first ray of sunlight illuminated the dark ski, but all I could see was the gold of the sunlight reflected in his deep brown eyes. 

(To be continued...)