The sky stretched above like a bruised canvas, streaked in dying shades of violet and ash as the city exhaled into its quiet, glittering pulse. Lights flickered on like watchful eyes across high-rise windows, while a soft wind curled through the streets—brushing against faces, whispering through alleyways, reminding everyone that night had come again.
Vincent stood outside the bar’s gold-lit doors, his shoulders tight with the weight of another night spent chasing shadows. His gaze had swept the room for hours, lingering on every face that bore even a ghost of resemblance. But she hadn’t come. Again.
And yet, somehow, he couldn’t stop hoping.
Every single evening since that encounter, he’d come back. Sat at the same corner of the marble bar. Ordered the same drink, whiskey neat. Waited
