"One Second More"
The rain had started just past noon—thin, harmless at first, but by four o'clock, the city roads were
slick with oil and impatience. Office workers rushed to leave, wipers beat in rhythm, and horns filled
the air like a swarm of angry bees.
Ananya clutched her bag and stepped onto the zebra crossing, eyes on the pedestrian signal blinking
green. She had only ten seconds to cross.
She was halfway across when it happened.
A silver sedan surged through the red light.
---
Everything after that was a blur. The screech of tires. A scream. The impact. The sound of her
umbrella bouncing off the hood. The thud of her body hitting the road.
Then… silence.
---
Earlier that day, 23-year-old Arjun Malhotra had overslept. Again. His job at the advertising firm was
hanging by a thread—his third warning in six months. He skipped breakfast, grabbed his car keys, and
swore under his breath as he hit traffic.
“Not today, please not today,” he muttered, weaving through lanes.
It was raining. The roads were bad. But the deadline was worse.
He glanced at his phone—his boss had messaged again.
> “Where are you?! Clients are already here.”
He looked up just in time to see the light change to orange. Instead of slowing down, he floored the
accelerator.
It was just one red light.
Just one second.
---
Back at the intersection, traffic stopped. People ran toward the girl on the road. Someone called an
ambulance. Others shouted at Arjun, who was frozen behind the wheel, his phone vibrating beside
him.
Ananya was still breathing. Barely.
---
At the hospital, doctors worked quickly. Internal bleeding. Concussion. Broken leg. She needed
surgery. Her parents arrived, frantic and trembling. Her mother sobbed silently in a corner, hands
shaking as she signed the consent forms.
Arjun sat outside the emergency ward, hands stained with rainwater and guilt. A traffic constable had
taken his license and asked him to wait. Charges would come later.
He looked at his hands. They weren’t shaking.
Why weren’t they shaking?
---
The news spread fast. Social media lit up with dashcam footage. “Another case of reckless driving.”
People commented. Liked. Shared. Moved on.
But Ananya’s life didn’t move on.
She woke two days later in ICU. The pain was everywhere. Her mouth was dry. Her legs were numb.
The doctor’s words were calm but sharp:
“You’ll need therapy. Months of it. You were lucky. It could have been worse.”
She didn’t feel lucky.
She had an interview next week. A photography internship she had dreamed of for years. She’d saved
up for a new camera. She was supposed to move to Mumbai.
Now, her only trip was from bed to bathroom, with help.
---
A week later, Arjun sat in a traffic safety class—a part of his temporary bail conditions. A police officer
stood at the front, showing photos of road accidents.
“Do you know how long it takes to stop a car at 60 km/h on a wet road?” he asked.
No one answered.
“Thirty-eight meters. That’s about eight car lengths. And that’s if you’re sober, alert, and your brakes
are perfect.”
Arjun thought of the red light. The puddles. The sound of impact. Thirty-eight meters. He hadn’t even
slowed down.
The officer looked straight at him.
“Most road deaths aren’t caused by bad luck. They’re caused by bad decisions.”
---
Weeks passed. Ananya learned to walk again—with crutches. Her friends visited, but conversations
felt heavy. She stared often at the calendar, counting days since the accident. She deleted the
Mumbai job offer email.
Her mother tried to cheer her up. “You’ll get another chance.”
She forced a smile.
But inside, a quiet storm brewed—of frustration, fear, and questions: Why didn’t he stop? Did he
even look? Does he know what he took from me?
---
One afternoon, Arjun visited her.
He had asked the police. He wasn’t forced. He wanted to say sorry.
She didn’t recognize him at first.
“I was the one driving,” he said, eyes down. “I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I just wanted you to
know… I think about it every day. I wish I had waited. Just one second.”
Ananya looked at him, silent.
He continued. “I quit driving. For now. I started volunteering with a road safety NGO. I talk to
students. About what I did. About what I destroyed.”
She said only one thing:
“Then make it mean something.”
---
Months passed.
Arjun kept his promise. He worked with schools, colleges, and driver training centers. He spoke not as
an expert, but as a cautionary tale. He showed Ananya’s photo (with her permission), and said:
> “She survived. But not everyone does. A red light is not a suggestion. A text can wait. A life cannot.”
Ananya eventually healed. Her limp remained—but so did her spirit. She applied again. Got accepted.
Moved to Mumbai.
Her first photo exhibit?
"One Second More"—a collection of portraits of road accident survivors, each holding a clock
stopped at the moment their life changed.
It went viral.
Her pain had turned into purpose.
---
Final Message
Road safety isn’t just about rules—it’s about lives. One second of distraction, one red light ignored,
one text glanced at while driving—can change someone’s future forever.
Drive like someone’s life depends on it.
