The Timing Between Us

Chapter Three

The Reunion

The reunion was being held at a rooftop bar downtown.

The moment we entered, noise hit me immediately.

Music.

Laughter.

Glasses clinking.

The smell of alcohol and expensive perfume mixing together in the air.

My stomach tightened.

Too many people.

Too many familiar faces.

“Oh my God!” someone suddenly shouted.

Before I could react, a girl threw her arms around me.

“Clara! It’s been forever!”

I recognized her after a few seconds.

“Jenny?”

“Yes!” She pulled away smiling. “You look amazing!”

“You too.”

And she did.

Everyone did.

That was another terrible thing about reunions.

People arrived looking successful.

Confident.

Finished.

Meanwhile, I still felt painfully unfinished.

“Oh my God, remember when Mrs. Reyes made Clara cry because she got a ninety-eight?”

I groaned instantly. “Please don’t bring that up.”

People laughed.

“Seriously,” another guy said. “You were terrifying back then.”

“She studied during lunch,” Pat added.

“I was twelve,” I defended weakly.

“And still more responsible than me now.”

Everyone laughed again.

I smiled politely.

But deep inside, something twisted painfully.

Because they still remembered me as that version of myself.

The smart girl.

The disciplined one.

The girl who surely had her future figured out by now.

Someone handed me a drink.

I accepted it immediately.

Maybe alcohol would help.

Spoiler alert:

It did not.

At first the conversations were manageable.

Surface-level.

Safe.

Until someone asked the question.

“So what are you doing these days, Clara?”

There it was.

I swallowed slowly.

“A little bit of everything,” I answered vaguely.

“What field?”

I forced a smile. “Still figuring things out.”

“Oh.”

That tiny reaction.

That tiny shift in tone.

Maybe I imagined it.

But it still felt humiliating somehow.

Beside me, someone else started talking about their corporate job.

Another about graduating with honors.

Another about moving abroad next year.

Each conversation felt like tiny paper cuts.

Not enough to destroy me immediately.

Just enough to slowly bleed confidence out of me.

“So what about you?” someone asked Mika.

“I’m suffering in marketing,” she deadpanned.

Everyone laughed.

I took another drink.

Then another.

Then another.

My alcohol tolerance was practically nonexistent because I almost never drank.

But tonight?

Tonight I wanted the noise in my head to stop.

I wanted the comparisons to stop.

The envy.

The disappointment.

The ugly little voice whispering that maybe everyone else had been right to expect more from me.

Maybe I wasted my potential.

Maybe I became the disappointing story adults warned their children about.

I stared into my glass quietly.

“You, okay?” Pat asked softly.

“Mmhm.”

“You’re drinking fast.”

“I’m coping.”

“With what?”

I looked around the rooftop slowly.

Everyone laughing.

Everyone glowing.

Everyone moving forward.

“With life,” I answered honestly.

Pat’s expression softened immediately.

Before she could reply, another wave of noise erupted near the entrance.