David followed his sister Julia to the entrance of the bar. She had brought him along like a trophy she had won in one of their bets.

He was so sure he wouldn’t lose the challenge of his sister keeping her car clean for the entire month. Julia was messy in every way known to man, but even more stubborn. And now he was about to attend a poetry night with her friends.

David silently wished he was never born. He attended anyway. A man of his word, apparently.

The bar was dim, lit by tea lights and the low amber glow above the counter.

A stage was set to the right of the entrance, one stool behind a microphone stand, and an acoustic guitar sitting next to the stool to accompany those who needed extra encouragement.

People packed the room, shoulder to shoulder. Some drank, some smoked, some did both.

Julia waved to a group of people sitting around the table closest to the stage. David felt like a prisoner being pulled to his sentence. He didn’t break the law, at least he didn’t think so, but he was far from an innocent man.

“Hi, guys!” Julia hugged each of them.

David always hated her choice of friends—bleached, tattooed and buffed. He didn’t hate them because they looked that way, but because nothing they said sounded interesting to him. There was no depth, no intrigue, and he always let her know.

Equally, she let him know that his friends were boring to her, and that her found family was her choice. Julia always seemed to be at peace with her choices.

A broad-shouldered man sitting beside Hannah, Julia’s best friend, motioned her toward the empty seat next to him.

“I’ll take that seat. Thanks,” David said, locking eyes with his, as if to tell him to step away.

The man clenched his jaw, smiled at David, and tilted a bottle against his lips, staring back at him. The rest of the table kept talking.

“We should do that again. The party was amaziiing!” Hannah said.

Julia smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It wasn’t that good,” she said. “But it wasn’t, like… the worst.” She quickly glanced over David.

He had been trying to keep Julia out of harm’s way since the day she came home from the hospital.

David ordered a double shot of whiskey neat. He studied the room as much as the lighting allowed. His lungs filled with a mixture of alcohol, coffee and smoke. He wiped his palms against the fabric of his black dress-up pants.

Taking a small sip of his drink, he focused on the far back of the room, noticing more people. Colorful. Older. Younger than him. And those who blended in with the interior.

One of them was sitting at a high table. Alone. Back leaning against the wood panel. Her leg crossed over the other. She looked out the window, appearing to be somewhere else entirely.

David studied her movements for a short while. But there were barely any. Breathing. Blinking. Playing with a bracelet on her left wrist, looking down at it a couple of times, then looking back out the window. No one seemed to approach her. And she didn’t seem to speak to anyone.

The light above the stage flickered, breaking his focus. He gently lowered his glass on the table and crossed his arms.

The first reader, a lady in her mid-60s, spoke about her long-lost love. The one that never was, but always will remain. The one that brought her unimaginable happiness, but left only pain.

A young girl followed. She appeared to be around Julia’s age. And she lamented about a melting planet, soul journeys and patriarchy.

All valid concerns, David thought, but it didn’t feel like it fit the theme.

Was there a theme?

Readers and writers lined up one after another, talking about pets and love, friendship, faith, fidelity, and lack of.

David’s mind drifted to more interesting scenarios.

Just because he was there didn’t mean he had to pay attention.

He closed his eyes, imagining how he would be bringing another girl home right now, instead of being a part of this humiliation ritual.

All the losses don’t compare

to what was lost so long ago.

To remember, do I dare?

Do I dare to let it go?

All this time, seconds, hours,

I imagined what could’ve been.

We were right to call it ours,

but our life will never breathe.

Dreaming of a different life,

lost in all the possibilities.

Do I dare to call you mine,

If mine you will never be?

David listened with his eyes closed.

Loss. A thing he knew nothing about. What it felt like. What it was. Yet he was able to hear a hint of mourning in the voice, subtle, but there.

The woman passed by their table as soon as she was done, leaving a trace of tangerine scent behind.

Fits the season, he thought.

David opened his eyes, excused himself with a whisper and walked out of the bar.

He leaned against the cold brick wall and watched people pass by while traffic dragged through the street behind them.

A popcorn and chestnut vendor was sitting just across from the entrance, ready for people drunk on liquids and poetry to swarm at the snacks like seagulls. David studied his face from afar. Glued and chuckling at the phone screen, one hand in a glove, the other free to scroll. No one approached him, and he didn’t seem to mind.

Back inside the bar, more people lined up to contribute with their words.

Everyone seemed to have fun. He didn’t try to understand it.

David came from the world of numbers, statistics, laws, the most mundane things known to one romantic. He got the impression that the room was full of them.

He sat down. “Julia,” he leaned toward her, “are you enjoying this?”

“Very much.” She grinned. “And you’re not. I know.”

David pressed his lips together. “Not at all,” he said. “I’m curious…” His eyes moved over to the back of the room where all the readers sat. “Who was reading before I went outside?”

Julia’s eyes narrowed on him.

“Oh. Her? No one special,” she said. “Definitely not your type. She’s, like, 3B—beige, brown and boring.”

David’s eyes didn’t move away from the line of people leaning against a wooden panel. “Do you know her name?”

Julia shook her head, sipping coke through a straw.

“Which one is she?” he asked, looking back at Julia now.

She scoffed, nodding at the door. “The one leaving.”

David felt adrenaline surging through his body.

Taking a sip of whiskey, he watched the door close.

His legs itched to move. He straightened in his seat.

The glass hit the table with a soft thud.

David looked at the door like it was a contract he wasn’t sure he wanted to sign.

Steadily, he stood up.

“Wait here.” He leaned over Julia’s shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

The door chimed as he exited the bar.

David’s muscles froze almost immediately as the wind wrapped around his bare skin.

His feet caught up to his object of interest, pursuing out of intrigue, more than a need.

She walked to a bus stop further down the street.

Standing near the curb, she fixed the scarf around her neck, looking to the left side of the road. Then she adjusted the wires of her earphones, and her hands got lost in the pockets of a tan coat.

David stood next to her, moving his lips, but no sound seemed to get through.

It was only when she looked forward at the road that she noticed him.

She took the earphones out and fully turned toward him.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” David said.

The woman studied his face for a moment.

“You didn’t.” She looked away.

David took half of a step toward her. “Can I get your number?” he asked.

She turned to him again. No expression on her face.

A child laughed on the sidewalk, running from his parents.

She flinched at the sound, just slightly. But she didn’t look.

“Don’t you think a proper ‘hello’ should come first?”

David exhaled sharply through his nose. One corner of his lips pulled up.

“Of course,” he said. “I apologize.”

The woman turned away again. Her cheeks and nose blushed from the cold, sharp wind.

“Hi.” David unlocked the phone in his hand. “Can I?”

She turned back to him, eyes slowly measuring his entire body, from the top of his head, down to the tip of his polished shoes. The sleeves of his black button up were rolled up halfway, revealing an expensive watch on his left wrist. The stubble on his face was intentional. And his eyes gave away the intrigue she sparked in him.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

He took another half a step toward her, extending his hand. “I’m David.”

She turned away and stepped closer to the curb. “And I’m not interested.”

David stepped to the curb, joining her. “I can change that.”

The bus slowed down in front of them.

She turned to him and said, “Not necessary. I’m fine. Really.”

Then she stepped on the bus and the door closed with a thud.

David let his hand fall. Untouched.

He watched her sit in the back of the empty bus.

Well… this doesn’t happen often, he thought.

Nine times out of ten, he got the number. Or the name. Or the sex—immediately.

She intrigued him even more now.

She didn’t look like the women he usually noticed. But her voice, or the way she exposed herself, reeled him in and sparked a fire within.

The scent of tangerines stayed with him longer than it should have.

His brain projected her freckled face back onto his eyelids.

“Lost in all the possibilities,” echoed through his head.

So many possibilities.

David’s determination was strong.

He never asked twice.

The thought of doing it again irritated him more than it should have.

David’s car sat at the red light. It seemed to take forever to turn green.

He and Julia both stayed silent.

She clutched her designer purse tight against her stomach, like someone could snatch it any moment. The size of it was bigger than Julia’s usual choices.

He wanted to comment on it.

Instead, he turned the radio on to break the silence.

Rolling her eyes in disagreement, Julia turned it off.

Cars started honking in unison behind them as the light turned green. Julia rolled the window down and flipped them off as David stepped on the gas. He clicked a button on his door and the window started rolling up.

“That’s unnecessary,” he told her.

Julia turned her head toward him. “Oh. He speaks.”

David didn’t say anything.

“And I disagree,” she added. “I think it’s very necessary. The light literally just turned green.”

“It’s the city,” David said, turning the wheel with one hand.

“And it’s full of assholes.”

A smile escaped him. He couldn’t argue with that.

They stopped at another red light. A bus waited in front of them.

“You know,” Julia said. “I’m not used to you being so, like… quiet.”

David let the silence stretch between them.

A few moments passed.

The light turned green. And the bus huffed as it picked up.

“David?” Julia poked.

David’s jaw tightened. He turned left, following the bus.

“I didn’t get her number,” he said finally. “Not the first time. I just… didn’t expect that.”

Julia chuckled. Her chuckle turned into a full belly laugh. “When was the last time a girl rejected you?”

David shrugged. “A long time ago, probably.”

She laughed again. “Maybe you’re finally going to be taught a lesson.”

David smirked. He turned to her. “I’ve had my share.”

“Clearly not.” One eyebrow lifted. Then a sigh. “I wouldn’t lose sleep over her. She’s, like… weird.”

His brow furrowed. “Weird how?”

He turned the car onto a road leading up to their house. A line of beautiful mansions unraveled as he drove, each more beautiful than the previous.

“She’s always, like, sitting alone. Silent,” Julia said, looking out the window. “She doesn’t speak to anyone except for when she, like, reads. And it’s always her original poems. And only poems.”

David’s hand tightened around the steering wheel. “And she’s there every Wednesday?”

Julia turned to him. Her eyes measuring his face. “Most of them.”

He said nothing more after that.

David pulled up in front of the house.

“She’s not even your type.” Julia unbuckled her seatbelt. “What the hell?”

David said nothing for a moment.

Julia was right. She wasn’t his type. That should’ve made this easier.

Instead, it made him want to see her again.

He stepped out of the car.

Julia followed.

“Even better,” he said. “She looks like she spends more time with books than people.”

“I’m sure she goes out,” Julia said. “She doesn’t seem like she’s secretly sucking on people’s necks when the sun goes down.”

David followed the steps that led to the entrance of the house.

His hand wrapped around a brass handle. The moment stood still.

“That’s what I’d like to find out.”

He turned the handle and opened the door, letting Julia in first.

“Ew,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t need to know you have a biting kink.”

The door clicked behind them, echoing through the marble tiled hall.

David stared at her. “I didn’t need to know you know about that.”

Julia had been his best friend since he was nine years old. And David had been hers since the day she was born. They knew everything about each other.

David was the only person who knew Julia’s passwords, and Julia was the only person who saw David cry, rare as that was.

She knew exactly the kind of man he was.

He knew she disapproved, but never hated him for it.

The house was empty.

David glanced to his left, the office light was on, door closed.

Their father was most likely working late, or retreated to his sanctuary.

The door to the right of the entrance led to a small library—their mother’s sanctuary.

Neither of their parents ever intruded on each other’s privacy in these rooms.

David and Julia walked upstairs, saying goodnight before separating, each walking into a sanctuary of their own.

David sighed and leaned against the door. Christmas lights outside cast a dull glow across one corner of the ceiling. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

His mind returned to the bus stop.

To her voice.

To the fact that she said no like it cost her nothing.

It meant nothing.

At least that’s what he told himself.

He pushed away from the door and deeper into the dark room. Then opened the door and stepped into the hallway. At the same time his foot touched the emerald green carpet, the door of Julia’s room closed.

He knocked softly. “Do you need the bathroom?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “I’m going to shower.”

A thud came from inside the room.

“Go ahead,” Julia said, her tone much higher.

He walked into the bathroom.

A shower would clear his head. At least temporarily.

Water poured over his back, cold at first, forcing his entire body to tense. Then the warmth followed. He stared at the black tiles beneath him, counting them as water ran down his neck and spine. Heat loosened the tension in his shoulders.

Comfort. That’s the most comfort he had felt in that house.

“Lost in all the possibilities.”

Her voice lingered in his head longer than it should have.

“You should know better than to bet against Julia,” he argued with himself. “Bet against yourself, David. Maybe one of you will lose too.”

He tilted his face into the water, heat running over his skin.

He wondered if her touch would feel cold at first too.

“I will find out even if I never touch another woman again.”

The promise felt heavier once it was spoken aloud.

* * *

That night David didn’t sleep until four.

His alarm went off at five, indifferent to the hour of sleep he had earned.

He lay still for a moment, her voice still caught somewhere behind his ribs. Then he got up. The firm expected him by seven. His father expected him earlier.

David had been a junior associate for three years at this point, working under his father, waiting for the day the office would become his in name as well as obligation.

His role was to shadow cases, draft what he was allowed to draft, and take notes when his father wanted silence more than input. He never doubted he could do the job. His father simply never gave him enough responsibility to prove it.

Maybe trust was never part of the plan.

Mistakes carried consequences in that family long before they carried legal liability. Losing his job was not one of them.

He dressed in his usual black suit, black button-up, black belt and polished black shoes, then walked downstairs into the dining room.

Julia sat at the table, staring into a cup of steaming coffee.

The smell alone gave him a rush of energy.

“How did you sleep?” David asked.

Julia turned the cup in her hands. “Fine,” she said. “Not bad. Not good. Just… fine.”

“Do you need me to drive you today?” David stepped closer to the table. “You know I don’t mind.”

Her hands stilled.

She raised her eyes to him.

David noticed the redness.

“I’m okay. I can drive, it’s no biggie.” Her lips curved into a half smile. “Thanks.”

David tightened his grip on the leather jacket hanging over his arm.

Something was wrong.

“Call me later,” he said. “It’s not a suggestion.”

Julia lowered her head.

The cup turned in her hands again.

She didn’t look like she planned on leaving the house. She probably won’t.

As David opened the front door to leave, a brief but loud sob echoed through the empty house.

His chest tightened.

His jaw clenched.

His hand gripped the doorknob.

Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he walked to the car. Each step felt wrong.

David buckled himself into the beige leather seat. The engine turned on.

He waited for the car to warm up.

The house—his grandfather’s legacy—looked like any other house in that area. White walls hiding behind a thick fog, curtains open, but the lights were off.

He caught his reflection in the rearview mirror.

It stared back without softness.

He exhaled through his nose. Jaw clenching until it started to hurt.

Julia never cried without a reason.

And David never let himself lose control. Unless it was about her.

He inhaled once and pulled away from the house.

He promised himself he would find out what scared Julia enough to hide it from him. And if Julia hid it from him, it was because their father would not take it well. And David’s care for what their father would do ended where his care for Julia began.