Oscar slipped into the party, his movements calculated, trying to avoid drawing your attention — or your friends’. The weight of their angry stares didn’t faze him; he was focused on something else entirely. The tension in the air was palpable, the months of silence between the two of you hanging like an unspoken ghost.

You, hoping to steer clear of any potential confrontation, drifted toward the bar. The bustling crowd became your shield, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations a temporary distraction. But fate, as it always seemed to with Oscar, had other plans. You felt him before you saw him — his presence unmistakable, his breath warm against your neck. It sent a jolt through you that you immediately tried to shake off.

“A whiskey and a mojito for the girl.” he said, his voice low but audible over the hum of the party. Your stomach twisted. The familiarity of his order struck you — whiskey, something he’d left behind back when you were still speaking, back when he’d confided those small details of his life to you.

The bartender nodded and began preparing the drinks, leaving you frozen in place, your heart racing as you processed the fact that Oscar was standing so close, yet so far from the place he once held in your life.