Everything blurs past me as I drive toward Myra’s house. She invited me over since her parents are away, having traveled to France for a business meeting. Myra’s parents are exceptional businesspeople—millionaires with a capital M. Her father even arranged an internship for her at Ivanov’s company, which makes me more than happy that she will be there. Yet Myra never flaunted their wealth; in fact, when I first met her, I had no idea she came from such a privileged background. She is incredibly down-to-earth, and that is one of the things I admire most about her.

Her parents have always prioritized business over family. Myra has a younger brother, and from the very beginning, she has taken responsibility for him because her parents were too busy to even care for their own children. She is an amazing big sister and an even better friend.

I reach the front of her house—no grand mansion gates in sight. The guards recognize me immediately and open the gate. I park my car in the garage, and just then I see Myra running toward me. One of the perks of owning a loud car like mine is that its roar announces my arrival long before I step out. I exit the car, and she immediately crashes into me with a tight hug. I am not one for physical affection, but she always manages to surprise me with her spontaneous gestures.

I squirm in her arms and protest, “Let me go, you koala. You’re going to ruin the cake and cookies.”

She huffs before finally releasing me, flashing a wide smile. “You baked cake and cookies for me? That’s so cute!”

I reply, “They’re not for you—they’re for your brother. And remember, we have an internship interview tomorrow, so let’s go. Or are you planning to make me stand here all day?”

She pouts adorably and responds, “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Then she turns and walks toward the mansion. We step inside and settle on the couch.

She crosses her arms and complains, “Are you going to be selfish all day? You could’ve just taken some cookies from your brother. It’s not like he wouldn’t share.”

I laugh and shake my head. “You know he’s a little monkey. He wouldn’t share with you.”

I pull out a box from the paper bag I brought and hand it to her. “This one’s all yours. You don’t have to share it with your brother.”

She opens the lid and screams, “Oh my God! You made carrot laddus for me! I love youuu!” She throws her arms around me again, and I can’t help but laugh at her reaction.

I remember her obsession with carrot laddus from the time I returned from a long winter vacation in Bangladesh. My mom had packed some for me, and I let Myra taste them. She instantly fell in love, claiming they were the sweetness her life had been missing.

Suddenly, I hear a shout. “Oh my God, sis, you came!” It’s Leon—Myra’s younger brother. He runs over and hugs me, and we exchange a cool bro handshake. He is such a sweetheart, like the little brother I never had until now. He’s in fourth grade and incredibly sharp-minded, unlike his dumbo sister.

“I had to come because you invited me,” I tell him. “How could I not? Missing out on time with you would’ve been a loss for me.”

He grins widely. We spend the day watching movies and playing Xbox with Leon. He is on cloud nine when he finds out that I baked cookies and cake especially for him, and he enjoys every bite.

Later that night, as I drive home from Myra’s house, passing through a vast forest, I suddenly hear a high-pitched scream. At first, I think it’s just my imagination. But when I hear it again, I realize something is terribly wrong. I hesitate—should I check or not? Eventually, my conscience wins, and I turn my car toward the forest.

A narrow road stretches ahead, but my car can manage it. As I drive forward, I see smoke spiraling into the sky. I fasten my seatbelt tightly, my gut screaming that something is terribly wrong. When I reach the scene, the sight before me is horrifying—a car completely engulfed in raging flames.

I stop my car at a safe distance and step out, scanning the area. At first, I see no one, yet I distinctly heard screams. I move closer, though the thick smoke clouds my vision. After a few tense moments, I spot a man slumped in the driver’s seat, unconscious. My instincts kick in—I have to save him.

I run back to my car, grab my phone, and dial 911. They tell me it will take fifteen to twenty minutes to reach the location since the forest lies on the outskirts. Panic floods me. I know I can’t wait that long—the car could explode at any moment.

I search frantically for something useful, and then an idea strikes me. I park my car farther away and grab the wool jacket I keep for emergencies along with my water bottle. I soak the jacket and my clothes, put it on, and tie my wet scarf tightly around my face and hair to protect myself from the flames. Nearby, I find a brick about ten inches long—enough to break the car window.

I approach the burning vehicle, though the heat feels as if it’s devouring me alive. I strike the glass hard, but it refuses to budge. I keep hitting it again and again, but the damn glass won’t shatter. I stagger back, gasping for air as the smoke makes it nearly impossible to breathe. Gathering my strength, I try again. After what feels like an eternity, the glass finally cracks. With one final blow, it shatters.

The man is still unconscious. I release his seatbelt—it comes undone surprisingly easily. I shout, “Hey! Can you hear me?” but there is no response. He is heavy and bulky, and I wonder how I will manage to move him. Summoning every ounce of strength, I grab his arm and drag him out of the car to a safe distance.

I check his pulse—it’s weak. He must have passed out from the smoke. Just as I prepare to give him CPR, I hear the sound of fire trucks approaching. Seconds later, a massive explosion erupts behind me. The car bursts into flames. If I had been even a few minutes late, the man would have died.

The paramedics rush him to the hospital and ask to examine me as well, but I refuse. I remove my scarf and wool jacket and explain everything to the police officers. They tell me they will contact me if needed, and I nod in response.

I drive home, take a long shower, and finally lie down, trying to sleep. But sleep is nowhere near me. My mind keeps replaying the events of the day. Life can change in an instant. Today, I could have died along with that man—but neither of us did.

Tomorrow is my interview. Holding onto that thought, I finally close my eyes and try to sleep.