Jean (to herself): He said he’d be late. Not missing. Late. (sips her drink, eyes flicker back to the corner where you're seated with Anna) Of course she’s touching his arm. Of course he’s laughing.

(Phone buzzes. It’s not you. Just Lisa. She puts it face down.)

(A guy walks up. He’s decent-looking. Soft smile.)

Guy: “You look like you could use company.”

Jean: “Do I?”

Guy: “You’ve been staring at the same spot for ten minutes. I figured if I sat down, at least you’d have something else to look at.”

(Jean lets out a quiet laugh. It’s bitter.)

Jean: “Bold of you to assume I’d rather look at you.”

Guy: “Ouch.” (grins) “But you didn’t say no.”

(He leans in slightly. Close enough to feel his breath. Jean doesn’t move away. Her heart's racing—anger, loneliness, something in between.)

Jean (to herself): This is stupid. He’s not even him. But at least he’s here.

(Their faces hover close. A breath apart. Jean closes her eyes—for just a moment—then opens them again. Looks past him. Sees you, finally looking her way. Anna’s still laughing. Your hand is still near hers.)

Jean (quietly): “…I can’t do this.”

(She stands up. The guy watches her go, a little confused, a little impressed.)

(She walks past you and Anna without a word. Doesn't stop until she's outside, breathing hard, fists clenched at her sides.)