Doesn’t say a word. Just climbs off his Harley, walks up to her, and offers his arm like he’s escorting royalty. One of the others stops traffic with both hands out like Moses parting the sea.

She beams. Whole face lights up. Takes his arm. They move slow, slower than slow, across four lanes.

Nobody honks. Not one person.

I feel something pinch behind my ribs. Not guilt, exactly. Just—like maybe I’ve been walking around with my brain on autopilot. Seeing what I expect, not what’s there.

And then it happens. One of the other bikers notices me watching and walks up to my car window with a look I can’t read. He taps once.

I flinch. Hand instinctively flying to lock the door.

He sees it. Gives me a slow nod like, “Yeah, figured.” But he doesn’t look mad. More like