It was about 3° Celsius outside but she headed to her destination unruffled, although concerned about the passersby in a hurry for their destination and the cars speeding past her.
“Hello Tricia, what’re you doing in Istanbul?” the young man right in front of her said.
She hesitated before she stopped. “I don’t know you,” she said.
“Yes, you don’t know me but I’m one of your fans. My mother wears only the clothes that bear your label.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“I’m flattered.”
“It’s a fact.”
She smiled, gazing at him. He was handsome, but that was the least on her mind.
He secretly clicked two of his fingers, and a moving Mazda Rx-7 lost control and headed towards them. He pushed her to safety and calculatively jumped against the bonnet of the car, hitting the windscreen and rolling over to the ground.
The car came to an abrupt stop without hurting anyone. So many people besieged the scene. Tricia rushed in tears to meet him; her body was shaking.
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