The bar had a kind of charm you didn’t expect. The warm, golden light from the old-fashioned sconces bathed the room in a cozy glow, reflecting off polished wood counters and shelves stacked with bottles that sparkled like little treasures. A jukebox hummed quietly in the corner, playing some bluesy tune that added a rhythm to the gentle murmur of conversation. It wasn’t too crowded, just enough people to make it feel alive without overwhelming you. You slid onto a leather stool at the bar, noting the faint scent of aged whiskey and citrus in the air. For some reason, you felt like you could just sit there and disappear into the atmosphere for a while, letting the world outside stay exactly where it was—far away. As you settled in, a gravelly voice interrupted your thoughts. “New here, huh?” You turned to see the man sitting next to you, nursing a glass of something amber. He had scruffy gray hair, a worn leather jacket, and the kind of expression that said he’d seen more than his fair share of nights like this. His eyes, sharp but not unkind, flicked toward you before going back to his drink. “What makes you say that?” you asked, trying to sound more confident than you felt. He shrugged. “You’ve got that wide-eyed, ‘Wow, this place is cool’ look. Happens every time someone steps in here for the first time.” You huffed, half-annoyed, half-amused. “I’m not that obvious.” He smirked, tipping his glass toward you. “Sure you’re not. First drink’s always a giveaway, though.” You glanced at the glass the bartender set in front of you, then back at him. “What about you? What’s your excuse for being here?” He chuckled softly, taking a sip. “Habit, I guess. Some places just feel like home after a while.” He glanced around the bar, his voice light but tinged with something else. “This one? It’s got a way of pulling people in when they need it.” You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you just took a sip of your drink—thankfully, not as disastrous as you feared.