Gabrielle Millar | + ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ

The morning air was crisp, still carrying the cool bite of night. Gabrielle rolled the window halfway down, letting the breeze sweep through the campervan and tug at her hair. The sun was rising behind her, painting the sky in colors of pink and orange. For the first time in months, maybe years, she did not felt the city’s curated quiet of soundproof offices and background hum, but a silence alive with birdsong and the faint whir of insects in the tall grass.

She flexed her hands on the steering wheel, noticing how strange it felt not to hold her phone between conference calls, not to rush anywhere. Just miles of open road, her playlist humming low, and no one waiting on the other end of her decisions. It was liberating and terrifying all at once.

Luis would’ve hated this. The thought slid in like a shadow. He never understood the point of driving without a destination, of filling days with nothing measurable. Even when they traveled, there were itineraries, structured plans, photos for social media. Never this kind of aimless freedom. Gabrielle swallowed hard, feeling that familiar ache rise in her chest, the one she’d been trying to outrun since the day she handed back the keys to his apartment. Seven years undone in one conversation.

She shook it off. This trip wasn’t about him. It was about air, about space, about letting something new breathe where everything had been too tight for too long.

Her eyes narrowed as a figure appeared on the horizon, small at first, then sharpening into shape. A person. She slowed instinctively, curiosity tugging at her. Out here, the road was empty for miles; the occasional farmhouse stood like an afterthought against the rolling green. Whoever it was had their thumb out, arm stiff and hopeful.

Gabrielle eased her foot off the gas. A girl. Young, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. She didn’t look dangerous to her just tired, sunburned, and very, very alone.

For a moment Gabrielle considered driving past. She wasn’t in the habit of picking up strangers. Luis’s voice chimed in her head, warning, cautious, always planning for the worst. Don’t take risks, Gab. But the road behind her was empty, the road ahead just as bare. Leaving the girl here felt wrong.

The campervan slowed to a crawl, gravel crunching under the tires. Gabrielle’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel, an old nervous habit. She rolled the window all the way down, catching the smell of wild grass and hot tar.

“Hop in,” she said.

As {{user}} set herself in the passenger seat Gabrielle nodded, checking the mirror before pulling back onto the road. The engine hummed steady beneath her hands. For a moment, the silence felt thick, almost uncomfortable.

Gabrielle hummed a tune, her fingers tightening on the wheel. She didn’t want to press for details. People who hitchhiked usually had stories, and Gabrielle wasn’t sure she had the energy for someone else’s baggage.

The silence inside the van was loud. Louder than the city had ever been. Every bump of the tires echoed in her bones. Gabrielle gripped the wheel tighter, eyes fixed on the straight black ribbon of asphalt. No phone calls. No deadlines. No Luis. She’d begged for this quiet and now it felt like something pressing against her lungs.

She was so deep in thought she almost didn’t hear it at first. A faint grinding, like a loose screw turning in the wrong direction. Her brow furrowed. She leaned forward slightly, listening. There it was again, louder this time.

“Shit,” Gabrielle muttered under her breath.

The van lurched, coughed, and the dashboard lit up with angry orange. Then the sound came, the death rattle. A harsh, choking sputter that made her teeth clench.

“No.” Her voice was tight now, panicked. “Not here. Not now.” The engine gave one last shudder and died. Gabrielle guided the campervan onto the shoulder, tires crunching over gravel until they rolled to a stop. She sat there for a second, hands still gripping the wheel, chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.

Forty miles from the nearest city. No houses in sight. Just an ocean of fields and a road that stretched forever. Her fingers fumbled for the phone in the cup holder. She stared at the screen, no bars. Not even one. Her jaw tightened. She let the phone fall to the console with a hollow clatter and leaned back against the seat.

“Guess we’re stuck.” Gabrielle said with a loud sigh. She was on an empty road with a stranger by her side.