Aurora’s life changed in an instant on a quiet stretch of road. She had been hit by a car—not once, but by both the front and back tires—and yet, fate intervened when the driver stopped, carefully lifted her into the car, and searched desperately for help.

Both the front and back tires struck her, an unthinkable sequence that left her body crumpled and trembling on the asphalt. Shock blanketed her senses. She heard the distant screech of tires, a frantic gasp that could have been her own or someone else’s. Her vision swam between blinding clarity and darkness, the edges of her consciousness fraying. And then, as if fate itself were holding its breath, the driver stopped.

The man who had hit her seemed to appear out of nowhere, his face pale and stricken. He approached cautiously, almost reverently, bending down to lift her with a care that contrasted starkly with the violence of the accident. His hands shook, but he murmured reassurances, words that sounded meaningless against the roar of pain and adrenaline but carried a strange weight of comfort. He searched desperately for help, scanning the horizon for any sign of a passing car, a pedestrian, a miracle.

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