His phone rang just as he drove his car up the flyover. After a 30-minute crawl on a rainy evening, there was finally an empty stretch. He looked at his watch, he could still make it in time for the appointment. The phone rang again; he saw her name from the corner of his eye. Instinctively he looked to see if there was a cop around, then hurriedly picked up the phone and said, “Hello…”

“I’ve had an accident. This car came from the back and hit my car,” the voice shaking with disbelief.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Can you call someone else, I can’t turn back. You know I have an appointment. Sorry.” The phone disconnected.

In the night he called back to find out if she had got home safe. The answer came in monosyllables. Their friendship lay scattered on the road with the broken bumper and the shards of the tail light. The pieces will never be put back again.