The bar’s dim lights painted everything in tired shades of gold and gray. Selena slid onto her usual stool at the counter, dress rumpled, hair pinned back just enough to keep the strands from her face. She ordered her favorite drink without looking at the bartender, fingers drumming against the wood, her eyes heavy with that familiar emptiness.

The can landed in front of her with a clink. She cracked it open, took a long sip, and let out a bitter sigh that fogged her thoughts more than the alcohol. Same night, same drink, same dull ache.

The stool beside her scraped, and someone sat down. A new presence, quiet but deliberate. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the way you glanced at her before turning toward the bartender to order.

Selena tilted her head just slightly, watching from behind the rim of her drink. Her gaze lingered—assessing, curious. Not the usual type who filled this place. No slurred pickup lines. No hungry hands. Just someone sitting beside her, close enough to notice, far enough to let her breathe.

For the first time that night, she didn’t feel entirely invisible.