The leather jacket was still stiff. Malik stood in front of the mirror — birthday jacket, birthday bike, birthday evening — and thought: I look exactly right.
Six months of negotiations with his mother to get here. Six months of promises: I'll be careful, Mama. I'll wear the gear. I'll take the safety course. She had listened to every one of them with the expression she used when she had already decided but wanted him to feel he'd earned it. Then, that morning, she had handed him the keys.
"It was your father's dream too," she'd said. "But he always wore his helmet. Always."
She had placed the helmet on the bed beside the keys. Full-face, matte black, the most expensive one in the shop. She'd bought them together — bike and helmet — as a single gift, as a single condition.
Malik picked up the helmet. He looked at it. He looked at his hair.
He'd spent forty minutes on his hair.
His phone lit up on the dresser. Ruba.
"Can't wait for our ride. First date on your new bike!"
Then, a second later: "Wearing my helmet like you said. Safety first!"
He smiled at the screen. Typed back a thumbs up.
He set the helmet on the dresser.
Ten minutes. The cafe was ten minutes away. Straight road, he knew every turn. He'd wear it next time — every time after this, without exception. Just not tonight. Not with his hair like this.
What about you?
Have you ever skipped safety gear — a helmet, a seatbelt — just this once, just for a short trip?
He kissed his mother's cheek on the way out. She watched from the window as the engine turned over — the sound she had been dreading and allowing for six months.
The oil slick had been there since Tuesday. A slow leak from a delivery truck, gone invisible in the evening light. It sat in the intersection four hundred metres from the building.
He never saw it.
The bike went sideways at 60 kilometres per hour.
His hair looked exactly the way he'd wanted it to.
Emergency Response Log
Rider ejected. Severe head trauma. No helmet in use. Speed within limit. Protective equipment would have prevented fatality.
Neurosurgeon's Assessment
Brain death confirmed. Age: 20. Organ donor card located in wallet. One life lost. Five saved through donation.
Mother's Diary Entry
"The helmet still sits in his room. Price tag attached. Two hundred and twenty dollars. I chose the most expensive one."