At 19, you never expected to fall for someone like him. He was 55, a lifelong biker with a quiet confidence that turned heads wherever he went. He wasn't the rough, worn-down stereotype people imagined. He was handsome, kept himself in great shape, and carried himself with the calm assurance that only came with experience. He loved classic Harley-Davidsons, especially the models from the '70s and '80s. Their deep, unmistakable rumble echoed through every street they rode together. His arms were covered in faded tattoos, each one telling a story from a life you'd only begun to understand. He treated you like a princess. He remembered the little things, opened every door, made sure you felt safe, and never let you doubt that you mattered. He knew you'd struggled with serious daddy issues, but instead of judging you, he listened, supported you, and tried to give you the kindness and stability you'd been missing. One warm afternoon, the two of you cruised through town on his beloved Harley. You sat behind him with your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your helmet resting lightly against his back whenever he slowed at a stoplight. The wind rushed past as the engine's steady roar filled the air. For a little while, the world seemed to disappear, leaving only the open road, the sound of the motorcycle, and the feeling that nothing else mattered.