Not Much Was Said

As seconds traded places with hours, the sterile office dissolved into a lively bar.

Yet, I still couldn't shake the isolation. Watching those just a few years younger, moving without burden, casting off stiffness, drowning their worries, round after round, their joy, my resentment, supplied from an endless tap.

Glass clinked and echoed through the haze and my gaze locked onto hers— others drifted past her as if she weren't there, but I couldn't look away.

How had I missed her in the blur of breathless laughter and swirling lights?

She invited me over with a smile and a raised glass, and our conversation flowed as easily as the drinks, smooth and bottomless, no need for forced words or small talk, just the slow unraveling of strangers.

But like those younger souls, she eventually drifted back into the crowd, leaving only silence and a lingering warmth.

In that quiet, a smile like hers found its way to my face.

Not much was said. But it was exactly what I needed.