Love Ride.

The sensation of riding with her on the bike always brought me joy, and this time, the weather added an extra layer of delight. The overcast sky, gentle breeze, and notably sparse traffic made the day absolutely perfect. She arrived in a sleeveless top and snug-fitting pants, radiating beauty. Just as she does in any outfit.

Sitting behind me, her bare arms encircled my chest, her head nestled on my shoulder. We both cherished these bike rides immensely. The rush of air against my cheek, and the wind brushing through her hair, all made us feel profoundly connected. Her hair swaying in the breeze produced a distinct sound that unfailingly lifted my spirits as we rode. Her head resting on my shoulder reminded me that she always sought a sense of protection. The vulnerable seeking refuge with the protector. Yet, deep within us, we knew that no force in the world could ever separate us.

After a few miles, we encountered a traffic signal. I brought the bike to a halt and waited. Suddenly, her grip on my chest tightened. Tenderly brushing my cheek against her head, I looked at her through the rearview mirror. She was smiling, her gaze fixed on a passerby. A stranger, a young man riding alone on his bike, had stopped beside us, staring in astonishment. The longer he looked, the firmer her grip became. While I appreciated her gesture, the intensity of the boy's stare unsettled me. I glanced at him, and he quickly averted his eyes. I offered her an affectionate gesture by brushing my cheek against her head once more. This time, she smiled back at me, her gaze no longer on the boy. The signal turned green, and we resumed our journey.

Throughout the ride, her firm grip on me remained steadfast.

As we covered more distance, another signal approached. I halted the bike once more. Gradually, I noticed her grip loosening, mirroring the inverse of what had happened earlier. I looked back; she was no longer resting her head on my shoulder. Instead, she was gazing into the car parked next to us, mirroring the same astonishment that the boy had shown us earlier. I followed her gaze and peered into the car. There sat a couple: the boy appeared somewhat tense, gripping the steering wheel, occasionally stealing glances at the girl who was playing with his body, her hand resting on his chest through his half-open shirt. They exchanged smiles and fleeting glances. We, my girl and I observed them from our bike. The girl inside the car looked at us, her smile undeterred as she continued her intimate gestures. The boy accidentally met our gaze and quickly looked away. The signal changed, and we continued on our journey.

Upon reaching our destination, we parked the bike and made our way to our customary spot. A place we had visited countless times, where we'd sat, talked, and planned our future. That spot held more knowledge about our love than any individual in the world. It was a sanctuary that breathed life into both of us, a place we held dear. Yet today, as we walked towards that spot, I noticed another couple heading in the same direction. They appeared dishevelled, dressed modestly, holding hands, and engrossed in their own conversation. I watched them; they seemed to have come from afar, their clothes stained with dust, hands and legs speckled with cement. Despite their evident exhaustion, they remained lost in their world, seemingly unaware of their surroundings. I felt a sense of embarrassment as if they didn't belong in a place like this. As we settled into our usual spot, they too took a seat nearby. Their conversation was audibly loud as if they were the only ones present. Their behaviour projected an air of being the sole couple in love. My irritation grew, and I stood up in frustration. My girl looked at me with a questioning gaze. I told her, "Let's go." She seemed puzzled. I walked away, and she followed suit.