The moment I saw her, I knew I had a choice to make. A woman stood by the side of the road, hands trembling over a flat tire. Traffic whizzed past, horns blaring, engines roaring—yet no one slowed, no one spared her a glance.
I should have kept going. My interview, the one shot that could change my life, waited. But something inside me wouldn’t let me. My bike swerved sharply, tires screeching against the asphalt as I skidded to a stop beside her.
Her sharp green eyes snapped up, piercing, hesitant. For a moment, I thought she might refuse help. Then she sighed.
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