He Was Just My Uber Driver. Then He Tried to Kidnap Me.

I still get chills when I hear the chime of a car unlocking from the inside.

It’s been nearly a year, and yet something as simple as the sound of a car door clicking open can send my heart racing and my palms sweating like I’m right back in that night. The night I thought I might never make it home.

It started like any ordinary Thursday. My best friend had just gotten out of a long, messy relationship, and we decided drinks and dancing were in order. A little release. A little laughter. Something to remind us that we were still young, still free, still alive.

The night was harmless. Fun, even. I remember wearing this slinky black dress I hadn’t worn in forever, the one that makes me feel like a woman with control. We laughed too hard. I drank just enough to feel soft around the edges. And by 11:30, I was ready to call it a night.

I opened my Uber app, requested a ride, and waited near the side of the bar, where the yellow neon sign flickered against the wet pavement. It said his name was “Rafiq.” Honda Civic. 4.92 stars. Nothing to think twice about.

When he pulled up, I climbed in like I always do, trusting the world a little too easily, because nothing like this had ever happened to me.

The first ten minutes were normal. Music low. He asked if I had a good night, I smiled and gave the usual polite response. But then the questions got… strange.

“You live alone?”

I blinked. Caught off guard. “Um, no. With roommates.”

“Pretty girl like you… shouldn’t be out so late alone.”

I laughed, awkwardly. Tried to brush it off, but something shifted in my chest. A tightening, like my instincts were whispering, Wake up. Pay attention.

I subtly turned my location on and sent my roommate a quick message: “In the Uber now. Be home soon.”

That was the last message I’d send for the next 45 minutes.

Because I watched the blue dot on my screen veer right when it was supposed to go left.

“Hey—sorry, I think you missed the turn. It’s back that way.”

No response.

I repeated it, louder, a hint of panic in my voice. Still nothing. His jaw was tight. Eyes focused straight ahead. That’s when I realized he wasn’t taking me home.

My stomach dropped. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and frantic. I unlocked my phone, but there was no signal. Just one tiny bar flickering, useless.

“Where are we going?” I demanded. “You’re going the wrong way.”

He looked at me then, and I swear to God, I’ll never forget that smile. It was small, too calm. Like he enjoyed watching the fear rise in my face.

“Relax,” he said, “I just want to talk. Somewhere quiet.”

I could’ve thrown up.

The streetlights were becoming scarce. I didn’t recognize the neighbourhood. It wasn’t even a neighbourhood anymore, just stretches of unlit roads and trees and whatever the hell else.

I considered jumping out. Just opening the door and flinging myself onto the road. But we were going too fast. And I didn’t know where we were.

So, I tried something else.

I said his name. Repeated it softly. “Rafiq… please. I’m not going to call the police. Just let me out. I won’t say anything. I just want to go home.”

He was quiet.

For a second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes, like he was debating it. Like a part of him was human. But then he just said, “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

I didn’t answer.

I reached into my purse like I was grabbing lip balm, but I slipped out my key instead. Held it like a weapon between my fingers. I was ready to stab, scratch, claw, whatever it took.

Suddenly, the car slowed down. We were pulling into an old gas station, the kind that looks abandoned even when it’s open. I didn’t wait. I yanked the handle and ran.

Didn’t look back. Didn’t scream. I just ran.

I ran straight inside and screamed at the cashier to call the police. I was crying, shaking, barely able to breathe. The guy in the car? He sped off. Gone before the police arrived. They said they’d look into it. I never heard back.

His profile disappeared from the app the next day.

They think he used a fake ID. A burner phone. Maybe even a stolen car. Who knows.

What I know is this: I trusted a stranger to take me home that night. And he almost didn’t.

Now, I never take rides alone. I send the plate to three people. I check the locks. I sit behind the driver so I can watch their every move. I never let my guard down, not even for a second.

I’ve told this story only once before. People say, “Wow, that’s terrifying,” and then move on. But I live with it. I feel it when I hear a car door. I smell his cologne in strangers and have to steady my breath.

Some people don’t believe me. Some think I’m being dramatic. But I know the truth.

And the truth is: He wasn’t just my Uber driver.

He was almost the last person I ever saw.