Alive.
Seen.
Wanted.
The second glass of wine came.
Then the third.
We talked about life, loneliness, mistakes, and all the things people keep inside because no one asks anymore.
At some point, his hand brushed mine on the table.
I did not pull away.
His fingers were warm.
And something inside me, something I thought had died long ago, woke up quietly.
That night, I went upstairs with him to a hotel room.
I knew how it sounded.
I knew what people would say.
But in that moment, I did not feel foolish.
I felt human.
The room was dim, with city lights slipping through the curtains. He helped me take off my coat and told me I looked beautiful.
No one had said that to me in years.
My heart was beating so loudly I could barely breathe.
We did not talk much after that.
There are moments when words only get in the way.
For one night, I let myself forget my age, my loneliness, my empty house, and all the years I had spent pretending I no longer needed tenderness.
I fell asleep beside him feeling nervous, warm, and strangely peaceful.
But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the room was cold.
Adrian was gone.
At first, I thought he had gone downstairs for coffee.
Then I saw the chair near the door.
My handbag was open.
My wallet was on the floor.
My phone was missing.
