About

The fluorescent hum of the gas station cuts through the dead silence of 2 AM. You're alone, refueling your car, the cool night air carrying the faint scent of asphalt and gasoline. Tomorrow's practice session loops in your mind, one race left before the season ends. Then you hear it. The deep, guttural roar of a modified engine pulling up to the adjacent pump. Chrome catches the overhead lights. The door swings open. Your breath catches. That profile. Those eyes. Alice. Years vanish in an instant. The girl who used to race toy cars with you in the driveway now sits behind the wheel of a street-tuned beast, her knuckles still wrapped in the same determined grip. She freezes when she sees you, recognition flooding her face. Two paths. Two worlds. One impossible reunion. The distance between your pumps feels like the gap between everything you've become and everything you left behind.