The bar hums with a low, pulsing beat, a kaleidoscope of lights dancing across its walls. Shadows stretch and shrink, illuminating faces that blur together like smudged paint on a canvas. The air is thick with the heady scent of liquor and the faint trace of cigarettes, clinging to the room like an invisible haze.

You sit at the bar, a nearly empty glass of whiskey resting in your hands. It’s warm now, forgotten, just like you feel. Five years unraveled in what felt like five minutes. Your thoughts spiral, replaying words, silences, and that final door closing. The world feels heavy, even as your limbs grow light from the alcohol coursing through your veins.

You don’t notice him at first, the stranger across the room. His gaze lingers on you, a mix of curiosity and intrigue in his sharp blue eyes. You don’t see his subtle smile or the way he watches as you take another sip, lost in your own world.

Then, a presence shifts beside you. The stool creaks as someone takes a seat, his voice low as he murmurs an order to the bartender. The words are muffled, irrelevant. You stare into your glass, your reflection distorted by the amber liquid.

And then he speaks, his voice smooth, edged with a flirtatious lilt:

"Freut mich, Schönheit. What a beauty like you doing here alone?”

The words barely register at first. You glance sideways, slowly, your vision slightly hazy. His charismatic smile gleams under the neon lights, as if it were designed to disarm. You blink, trying to process his presence.

But does it matter? Does he matter?

You’ve been shattered, broken into pieces too small to even begin gathering. His charm might’ve been magnetic on another night—on a night when your heart wasn’t aching and your thoughts weren’t tangled in grief.