I find Milla beautiful and persistent. She attended the following Scout session, initiating small intellectual discussions with the fellow leaders and invited me to join in on incentivizing Scout activities for the year from geocaching and paragliding. Although I wasn't really having brilliant ideas, I just chipped in. Some were worth putting thoughts to it, others were just insignificant.

Throughout the session, I was able to move around with ease despite the stinging pain on some parts of my body from that incident which was more likely to spasm on rare occasions. I was doubting the credibility of the doctor that treated me that evening, she claimed that my injury wasn't serious, the crack I heard was just vibrations from the impact (as she put it in layman terms). My internal organs were undamaged although I complained about the burning sensation in my lungs of which she opined, "It means your lungs overworked in a short span of time." I'll be 'as right as rain' in a couple of days, she said.

Milla noticed my injury as she gave a cursory glance on me from the distance and her eyebrows creased in apprehension. But she doesn't ask, she knows the limit of sticking her nose in people's private matters. Our conversation revolved around scouting related and my academic major.

"So, are we still up for a congenial company this evening?" she asked after the end of the session, reminding me of the drink night I owed her.

"As promised," I answered and gave a friendly nudge on the elbow.

"Brill! You'll come with me." She said and led me to Porsche 911 Turbo S parked a mile away from the community center, adjacent to a dropped kerb of Brighton Grove. It suddenly dawned on me that Milla was not your average next door girl or at least the girl in my neighborhood. She's loaded. I tried to act casual but frisson of excitement from my unrelaxed shoulder gave away and she noticed. She giggled. Damn it!

She unlocked the car remotely and gestured me in. I hopped in shotgun, settling myself while my nose caught the sweet scent of sandalwood lingering the vehicle. She chucked her black Burberry backpack at the backseat before entering the car. She raised her left palm and beckoned at me, "Come on, hand me over your stuff so I can put it behind."

I obeyed, not with an intention to comply with her hospitable gesture, but to respect her property. Some people may cringe to see passengers with lack of legroom. I leaned on its bucket seat that tucked me in like a cradle. We strapped both of our seat belts around our torso and tuck into its buckle. I scanned around the interior of the car, observing Milla inserted the key into the keyhole to turn its ignition. As the engine purred, she adjusted the temperature, powered up her audio device making sure everything was comfortable. After she set the coordinates of the destination on the computerised navigation panel, she backed the vehicle carefully before taking the steering wheel on a full spin to the right, freed the car and exited.

"I need to make a quick pit stop if you don't mind," she announced as the car cruised down on Wilmslow Road.

"For a petrol?" I asked, peeing at the dashboard looking for the pump station sign or any indicators suggest the same. But there were multiple indication displays on the dashboard, I couldn't make out what speedometer, tachometer or other sensors are within that five circles panel.

"Nah,I need to stop by at Didsbury, some errands to do." Milla smiled.