The Line Between
The road was quiet in the way only mountain roads areātoo quiet, like it was holding its breath. The orange center line stretched ahead, glowing faintly as dusk slipped into night. Inside the car, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the soft rustle of a tissue box sliding with every curve.
Then the headlights came.
From the opposite lane, a silver van driftedājust enough to cross the line. Time slowed. Hands tightened around the steering wheel. The world shrank to asphalt, light, and instinct.
A sharp swerve. Tires screamed. For one breathless second, everything teetered on the edge of disaster.
Then the van snapped back into place, missing them by inches. It passed, disappearing into the dark as if nothing had happened at all.
The driver exhaled a shaky laugh. Some moments donāt leave marks on the road, only on the heart. They drove on, slower now, more aware of every bend and shadow.
Because they had seen itā
how thin the line really was between continuingā¦
and never arriving at all.
