It was a sunny balmy afternoon at the end of a leisurely summer. I was driving on a winding country road with a lady friend. Little did I know that I was to have a close call that would have almost ruined the rest of my life.
Earlier that day, a friend called me to tell me that our mutual friend Rosy was arriving back from Taiwan after the summer holidays. Since there was no airport in the immediate vicinity of the university, she would need a ride to come back on campus.
Being mildly interested in that girl, I jumped at the chance to play hero. The trip was not particular long or arduous. I was to pick her up from a friend’s home that was a mere 80 miles from campus—a piece of cake, I said to myself.
Everything went well. The country road was almost deserted. Visibility was good and I was not driving very fast. The conversation was lively but not distracting.
About half an hour into the drive, I rounded a corner and noticed two small children, aged around 10, waiting to cross the road after getting off their school bus. My mind was not particularly focused on them because I thought they would not cross the road when a truck was coming through on their side. The two kids looked to their left, watching the truck intensely. As soon as the truck passed, and without a thought, they started to dash across the road. I was petrified, to say the least. My heart almost leaped out of my throat. Time seemed to have come to a standstill. It was like a nightmare coming into reality. I felt I was in the slow motion crash scene of a movie. I did not even have the time to brake or steer clear.