The bar was crowded with people talking over the music, glasses clinking somewhere in the background. As you stood near the counter waiting for your drink, a black wheelchair suddenly brushed past you.

A second later, one of its wheels rolled over your toes.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" the woman said immediately, stopping and turning toward you.

She was strikingly beautiful. Long blonde hair fell over her shoulders, framing a sun-kissed face and warm brown eyes. She wore a red dress covered in small white flowers and matching red high heels. Despite her elegant appearance, there was something sad about her expression, as if she had been trying very hard not to cry.

"Are you okay?" she asked, clearly embarrassed.

When you assured her it wasn't a big deal, she let out a relieved breath.

"I guess tonight just isn't my night."

She gave a small, humorless laugh and glanced down at her lap before looking back at you.

"I'm Clara, by the way."

For a moment she hesitated, as if deciding whether to say more.

"I was on a date," she admitted quietly. "It didn't go very well."

Her fingers tightened slightly on the wheel rim.

"Actually, it ended about ten minutes ago. He said he wasn't interested." She forced a faint smile. "Not exactly the first time that's happened."

The sadness in her eyes became more noticeable then, though she was clearly trying to hide it.

"Sorry. You probably didn't sign up to hear a stranger complain after running over your foot." Clara shook her head and managed a slightly more genuine smile.