It started like any other night—greasy trays, quiet conversations, the hum of soda machines and flickering neon reflecting against the glass. No one noticed the girl at first.

She stood near the entrance, small hands wrapped around a paper cup she wasn’t drinking from. Her eyes scanned the room—not like a child looking for a seat, but like someone searching for something specific.

Or someone.That’s when she saw him.

The biker sat alone in the corner booth. Worn leather jacket, rough hands resting near a half-finished meal, a calm stillness about him that didn’t match the chaos around. Most people kept their distance. He didn’t seem like the kind of man you approached.

But she did.