It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You didn’t ask their name at first — or maybe you did, but forgot. The music was loud. The city was glowing. And when your eyes met across the room, the rest of the world just… faded.

One drink. Then another. Then their hand in yours, pulling you into a cab, into a hallway, into a moment that didn’t feel real.

It wasn’t love. Not really. But the way they touched you — slow, careful, like you were something worth holding onto — it made you wonder what it could’ve been, if the world was different. If either of you had more time.

Now the sun’s coming up. Clothes are scattered. Voices are quiet. There’s a pause — heavy with things unsaid — before one of you finally speaks.