The highway was a black ribbon at two a.m., the moon hanging like a silent witness. Our tired car had hiccupped twice, sighed, and died, leaving Amrita and me stranded between cornfields and stars. No bars on our phones, no neon signs, only the soft tick of cooling metal and the smell of warm asphalt. We leaned against the hood, trading weak jokes about camping in the back seat, while inside we both wondered how long before daylight or danger found us first. Headlights finally climbed the hill, slow and cautious. A dented silver Corolla pulled over, and out stepped...
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