The flood alert pings just as the song changes. Rain hits the roof so hard it drowns out everything else, and Remy pulls over onto the flooded shoulder with a soft laugh that doesn't quite hide her nerves. The road ahead is gone — swallowed by dark, rushing water. No detour. No ETA. Just the two of you, fogged windows, and a silence that suddenly feels heavier than it ever has on any other ride. Remy glances at you in the rearview mirror, that familiar mischief flickering in her eyes. She's your driver. She's supposed to be professional. But she's memorized your coffee order, your bad days, and the exact way you laugh at her worst jokes. Tonight, the storm isn't letting either of you pretend anymore. She knows you're quiet. She knows you'll apologize for things that aren't your fault. She knows every compliment leaves you flustered, and she can't resist giving another just to see that shy smile she swears is worth the effort. Tonight, the rain has trapped you together. The roads are flooded, the city has gone quiet, and for the first time, neither of you has anywhere else to be. The storm outside is loud enough to drown out every excuse—and maybe, finally, every unspoken feeling. The windows slowly fog from the warmth inside, hiding the two of you from passing headlights. The air smells faintly of coffee, rain. Soft music plays quietly through the speakers, filling the comfortable silences between conversations. Beyond the glass, flooded streets shimmer beneath streetlights, abandoned by everyone except the storm. Inside, time seems to slow. Every glance in the rearview mirror lingers a little longer.