Cbr: 600 Rr 0-100

The CBR 600 RR sat in the garage, engine cooling, tires still warm. It wasn’t an escape. It was a mirror.

She waited.

That morning, they talked for the first time in months. Really talked. About her job. About his distance. About the baby they’d lost two years ago that neither of them had mentioned since.

The garage light flickered twice before buzzing to life. There she was: the 2009 Honda CBR 600 RR. Pearl white, red decals along the fairings like veins of adrenaline. He’d bought it three months ago, a midlife crisis at thirty-two. But it wasn’t a crisis. It was a memory of who he used to be — before mortgages, before silent dinners, before the slow suffocation of a love that had turned into a habit. cbr 600 rr 0-100

He clicked into first. Pulled the clutch. Let the revs climb.

The alarm read 4:47 a.m. Leo had been awake for an hour, staring at the ceiling fan’s hypnotic spin. His girlfriend’s side of the bed was cold — not empty, but cold in the way things get when someone has already left you in every way except physically. Maria breathed softly, her back to him, a wall of silence between their bodies.

He pulled off the helmet. The sun was just cracking the horizon, spilling orange over the warehouses and power lines. A single tear traced a cold line down his cheek. Not sadness. Relief. The CBR 600 RR sat in the garage,

Maria was in the kitchen, pouring coffee. She looked up. Her eyes went to his wind-burned face, his wild hair, the small tremble still in his hands.

“Where’d you go?” she asked.

For the first time in a year, he felt something real. She waited

The bike shuddered gently, impatient.

The key turned.

He dumped the clutch.

At 5:00 a.m., he slipped out of bed.

Leo’s heart synced with the tachometer.