Identity

It had been a week since I last saw the mysterious rider, and something about that night kept pulling me back. Each time I rode through the city's neon-lit streets, I couldn't shake the feeling that they might show up again. It wasn't just the race, or the adrenaline. It was the sense of connection, the unspoken understanding that passed between us.

But I didn't know anything about them—not their name, not their story, not even what they looked like under that helmet. It was like the night had swallowed them whole, leaving only the memory of their smooth riding and the thrill of the chase.

And then, one evening, it happened again.

I was riding through the same district, the familiar streets winding around me as I sought solace in the cool night air. The city's lights reflected in the mirrored surfaces of the buildings, casting a kaleidoscope of colors in every direction. It was my usual routine: ride, breathe, forget.

That was when I saw them.

A black silhouette appeared on the horizon, the low hum of an engine cutting through the silence of the road. It was them—the rider I had been waiting for. The same leather jacket, the same black helmet. The same confidence. This time, they didn't just ride beside me. They pulled up next to me, as if they were waiting for me.

For a moment, we both simply slowed, the two of us facing each other at a stoplight. I felt a surge of excitement mixed with curiosity. Who were they? What was it about this person that drew me in so effortlessly?

Then, without any warning, the light turned green, and just like that, the race was on.

We sped down the streets, pushing our bikes to the limit, weaving in and out of traffic, the wind blasting against my face. My heart raced, not just from the speed, but from the energy that seemed to crackle between us, unspoken but palpable. For a few moments, it was just the two of us and the road.

As the light ahead flickered, signaling the end of our impromptu race, I pulled off the road into a quiet parking lot. I parked the bike and waited, my pulse still racing, the excitement slowly dying down as I caught my breath.

I didn't have to wait long.

The rider pulled in next to me, shutting off their engine, and removed their helmet, revealing a face I didn't expect.

It was Jungkook.

Jungkook of BTS.

My breath caught in my throat, and my mind struggled to catch up with the reality of what was happening. The person I had been racing against wasn't just some random rider—it was him. The face I'd seen countless times on television, the voice I'd heard in music videos, the name I'd shouted at concerts.

The world seemed to freeze around me. I felt my heart skip a beat.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" Jungkook's voice was calm, amused even, as he slid his helmet off completely and flashed me a knowing smile.

I couldn't believe it. How had I not noticed? The way he moved, the way he rode—now that I could see his face, it all made sense. I had been so focused on the race, on the excitement, that I hadn't paid attention to the person beneath the helmet.

"You're… Jungkook?" I managed to choke out, still in disbelief.

"Yeah," he replied, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "And you are?"

For a moment, I was too stunned to respond. Was this real? Was I really talking to Jungkook in the middle of the night on some random street in Seoul?

"I'm Y/N," I finally said, my voice coming out a little shakier than I would have liked.

"Well, Y/N, that was one hell of a race," Jungkook said, leaning against his bike. "You've got skills."

I felt my cheeks flush, unsure of what to say next.

"Thanks," I muttered, still struggling to wrap my head around the situation. "You're… you're really good, too."

Jungkook let out a soft laugh. "It's fun to meet someone who actually knows how to keep up."

There was an awkward pause before I blurted, "I didn't know it was you."

He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. "I like keeping things interesting. Plus, the thrill of a mystery never hurts."

I couldn't help but smile, despite the overwhelming situation. Jungkook—the guy I'd watched from afar, idolized in some ways—was standing right in front of me, laughing and talking like we were old friends. The world seemed unreal.

"Well," he said, running a hand through his hair, "I'm glad we met, Y/N. Want to ride with me again sometime?"

I couldn't help but nod. "Absolutely."