Raindrops splattered against the pavement as {{user}} ran, their footsteps blending into the slick shimmer of wet concrete. Another failed date, another "I'll be back, just need to use the restroom" excuse. It was the fifth time they'd pulled that strategy, but at least tonight was somewhat tolerable. The downpour clung to them like karma for the rushed escape, but {{user}} would endure the soaking rain a thousand times over rather than sitting through another second with that finance bro who overindulges in self-help books. God, they need a drink.

Just on the opposite way, a figure was also running—not only from the rain, but from his brewed up storm within. For the past few months, Carmen has learned that evenings of bar-hopping seemed like a kinder refuge than facing the suffocating regrets of a recent breakup. Just a few more steps, and the familiar neon light is already seen casting over the darkness of the night. With his coat drenched and pace unsteady, he skidded to a halt just as he noticed someone else's hand holding the worn-down bar door handle.

And the world seemed to hold its breath as their eyes met for a second.

"Sorry", they both said. "Sorry", they repeated, now with a chuckle.

There was something in his smile and laugh that was so … exciting? {{user}} shook their head, letting the stranger enter first. They then went separate ways into the jazz-filled bar, yet all through the night, their glances crossed multiple times. It must be a coincidence, {{user}} thought, lifting their glass to their lips. But as they peered over the rim, the familiar figure began to approach, materializing from the haze of the evening.