She jogged after the car, rain plastering her hair to her face. “Martin, stop it!” she shouted, but the wind swallowed her voice whole. To him, it was harmless. A joke. A moment he could later retell at dinners, embellishing it for laughs.
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By the time he finally checked his rearview mirror, she had stopped running. Her figure shrank into the fog, swallowed by darkness. He kept driving anyway, still caught in his own amusement. But five minutes later, the thrill dissolved. The joke didn’t feel funny anymore.
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