The Race on the Bridge
We made our way to my father's mansion — a place so steeped in grandeur it almost felt unreal. The vast marble halls, the echo of our footsteps, the cold opulence of the chandeliers — all of it had become second nature to me, though it still managed to awe anyone who entered.
The sprawling garage waited beyond the side courtyard, its metal doors sliding open with a quiet mechanical sigh. Even after all these years, the sight inside never failed to stir something in me.
Rows upon rows of gleaming machines stretched before us — cars, motorcycles, classics, prototypes — each polished to mirror perfection. It was a shrine to speed and elegance, a temple built for motion. Every vehicle here carried history: the touch of craftsmanship, the hum of legacy, the faint scent of fuel and leather.
"Damn, man! Even I don't own this many vehicles," Kais said, his voice echoing with disbelief. His wide-eyed awe was almost childlike as he turned in place, drinking in the sight.
I chuckled softly. "Guess I took my passion a little too far. Come on — bikes are this way."
As we moved through the aisles, Kais's excitement grew. He stopped dead in front of the motorcycle section, his grin widening as the lights reflected off rows of shining metal."No way," he breathed. "Look at these beauties! So… I can really pick any one I like?"
"Yeah," I said, amused. "But two are off-limits."
"Why?"
Michael, who'd been quietly trailing us, answered before I could. "Because they aren't just bikes," he said smoothly. "They're sacred."
Kais shot him a look. "Sacred?"
Michael smirked. "You'll understand when you see them."
We reached the far end of the garage, where two Kawasaki Ninja H2s stood apart from the rest — midnight-black, perfectly balanced, their chrome glinting under the soft white lights. Each bore the engraved initials A. Ardel, followed by the years of our births — Alex's and mine.
They were more than machines. They were memories.Two stories written in metal — one still racing, one long ended.
Kais's gaze softened, curiosity flickering in his expression. "Let me guess. Yours and Alex's?"
Michael nodded. "No one touches them," he said with quiet finality. Then, glancing sidelong at Kais, he added dryly, "Not even me. So don't get ideas."
Kais raised an eyebrow. "And here I was thinking hospitality ran in the Ardel bloodline."
I smiled faintly. "Actually… someone has ridden one."
Michael's composure cracked instantly. "What? Who?"
"Your sister."
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut."Ayah?" Michael's voice rose an octave. "You let her ride one before me?" His disbelief was almost comical. "I mean, sure, you're her husband and all, but—come on! She gets a turn before me?"
Kais leaned casually against one of the bikes, clearly delighted by the chaos. "Well, at least a Ferdous got to ride it," he said. "Even if it wasn't me."
Michael glared at him. "That's not the point."
"Oh, I think it is." Kais smirked. "Maybe I should ride it too — you know, keep the tradition alive."
"Don't even think about it," Michael deadpanned.
Their bickering filled the space with easy warmth. The hum of engines seemed to echo softly around us, like the ghosts of races past.
The roar of engines soon replaced our laughter.By 3 a.m., the city belonged to us.
The Manhattan Bridge loomed ahead — a skeletal masterpiece of steel and light, its golden arches cutting through the cold night. Snow glistened faintly along the sides of the road, reflecting the city's glow. The streets were empty, the world asleep.
We lined up side by side — three silhouettes astride black machines, helmets down, hearts ready.
I straddled my Kawasaki H2R — pure power, unrestrained and merciless. Michael's Yamaha YZF-R1M purred steadily beside me, his focus unshakable. Kais, reckless as ever, sat on his BMW M1000R, the engine snarling like a wild animal waiting for release.
"No rules," Michael's voice crackled through the comms. "First across the bridge wins."
Kais laughed, revving his engine. "Let's see if you two can keep up. I don't plan on losing."
I tightened my grip on the throttle. "You'll be eating my dust."
A flare split the sky.The race began.
The H2R exploded forward, its roar tearing through the silence. The wind howled past, the city lights streaking into blurred gold and white. The cold stung my face even through the helmet, but the rush — the sheer, addictive pulse of speed — drowned out everything else.
Michael came in fast on my left, his R1M gliding dangerously close. I swerved, dodging a line of parked cars, his laughter faint in my ear."Nice try," I muttered, pushing harder.
"Too slow!" Kais's voice came through, wild and unrestrained. His BMW shot between us, weaving through traffic with suicidal precision.
We tore through intersections, red lights painting fleeting streaks across our helmets. The world blurred. Taxi cabs and delivery trucks were obstacles in a dream we refused to wake from.
Kais darted left, cutting off a cab. Michael retaliated by hurling a wad of cash at a delivery truck driver, who immediately swerved, blocking Kais's path."Dirty move, Michael," Kais growled."Win first, complain later," Michael replied smoothly.
The bridge was seconds away now — a gleaming serpent of metal rising into the sky. The incline shimmered under the streetlights, each beam of gold beckoning like a finish line drawn by the gods themselves.
Kais recovered fast, pushing forward with renewed fury. He overtook Michael, drawing level with me."Think you can take me now?" he shouted through the wind.
I grinned. "Watch me."
A delivery truck blocked the lane ahead, but I saw my chance — a slit of space between it and the car beside it. It was madness, but that's where I lived best.
I leaned in, the bike tilting dangerously as I slipped through the gap, sparks flying off the truck's side.
"What the—" Michael's voice cracked with disbelief.
The world narrowed into a tunnel of light and motion.I shot forward, the engine screaming, the bridge cresting beneath my tires like a wave of fire.
And then — silence.
I was there.The apex.
I slowed to a stop, heart hammering, breath fogging the air inside my helmet. The city sprawled before me like a sea of stars.
Moments later, Michael and Kais rolled up beside me — engines cooling, adrenaline still burning in their eyes.
Kais flipped up his visor, shaking his head. "Well, damn. You really don't hold back."
Michael removed his helmet, jaw tight but eyes bright with reluctant respect. "Next time, I'm taking you out early."
I smirked. "You can try. But we both know how this ends."
The three of us sat there for a while, straddling our bikes at the top of the bridge. The wind whipped around us, carrying the smell of metal, snow, and victory.
Below, New York shimmered — silent, eternal, alive.The race was over, but the fire remained.
And for one fleeting moment, it almost felt like Ayah was there too — laughing in the wind, her voice carried on the hum of engines and the heartbeat of the night.