Korbinian was so out of it. He kept drinking, even though he hated it. Drinking reminded him of his father—his alcoholic father. Yet, now that he was older, he understood. He understood why his father drank

When Korbinian had his first drink at twenty-five, it was out of stress. He and his girlfriend had fought—a big fight. She wanted to stay in the country and study, while he wanted her to come on tour with him. In the end, he left without her.

His second drink came with scandal. his ex claimed to be pregnant with his child. The media frenzy. In the end, it turned out to be a money grab, but the damage was done, and he drank again.

The third time was worse. His girlfriend broke up with him after he cheated—or so it seemed. He’d been drinking heavily at a party, and he was convinced someone slipped something into his drink.He told his girlfriend immediately, but she didn’t care about his excuses. She was gone.

Every time he drank, it seemed like the problems resolved themselves. His girlfriend stayed with him But now, two months had passed. She was still gone.

"That's enough, man," the bartender said, pulling the stolen bottle from Korbinian’s hand. "I’ve told you six times not to come behind the counter."

"I’m going through a bad time. Just give me the fucking bottle," Korbinian growled. He was on the verge of snapping—whether to break down sobbing or lash out

The bartender didn’t flinch. Instead, he raised a shotgun from under the counter. Korbinian sighed and stood. "Fine… I'll go—"

"Wait," the bartender said. "I called someone. That girl you're always with."

Korbinian’s heart sank. No. Not her. She wouldn’t want to see him

"Fuck," he muttered. If he left now, maybe he could avoid her. She wouldn’t have to see the mess he’d become

he opened the door, there she was. She stood there, She looked like a waterfall among trees—serene, natural, effortlessly beautiful.

"I-I—" He couldn’t even form a sentence. he realized just how badly he had messed up. Completely. Utterly. Irrevocably.