All Heather ever wanted was to be the happiest woman in the world — to have a stable career and a supportive husband by her side. That was her dream. But now, it all felt like sand slipping through her fingers.
Back at the hotel, she stepped into a steaming shower, letting the water wash away her hesitation. Accepting an invitation from a complete stranger — a man she barely knew — was unlike her. Why had she agreed so easily?
She didn't know. Maybe it didn't matter anymore. All she craved now was good food, light company, and maybe enough alcohol to numb the ache in her chest — if only for one night.
Heather slipped into a casual floral yellow maxi dress and pinned her hair loosely. Diamond studs glinted against her ears, and she applied just enough makeup to hide her swollen eyes — the aftermath of too much crying.
At eight sharp, she arrived in the hotel lobby where Philip had promised to meet her. To her surprise, he was already there, pacing casually.
"You're...so early!" she said, genuinely impressed.
"I'm an attorney," he said with a wink. "Being on time is the bare minimum."
They walked side by side down to the nearby restaurant along Chaweng Beach. Heather barely spoke. Philip, on the other hand, was a fountain of conversation — animated and charming, even if a little exhausting.
He filled the silences with stories from courtrooms and cases, pausing only to chew. It irritated her slightly — yet also distracted her, which she appreciated more than she let on.
After the meal, Heather gathered her courage. "Hey, um... would you join me for a drink?" she asked, her voice faltering.
Philip smiled warmly. "Absolutely. I was hoping you'd ask."
The bar was packed and noisy, but they found a small table in the corner. Heather ordered the strongest vodka they had. Philip went with beer. He leaned closer, his voice nearly drowned out by the music.
"Sometimes, you have to let go of the past. Don't let it define you."
"I'm trying," she slurred. "But Malcolm... he's just a pain in the ass."
Philip chuckled. He was glad to see her laugh, even if it was wrapped in bitterness.
Drink after drink, the weight on Heather's shoulders seemed to lift, even if just for a while. She smiled more. Laughed louder. And eventually, she lost control.
By the sixth shot, Heather was drunk. Her words tumbled out like loose thread.
"Do you think I'm not beautiful?" she asked, eyes glazed. "Is that why he left me? For Bianca — that backstabbing, bleach-blonde witch?"
Philip's heart ached at her pain. He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear.
"You are beautiful, Heather. More than you know."
And just like that, it clicked. The voice. The name. The eyes.
It was her.
The girl he once admired from afar — the girl who once stole his heart on a quiet winter night in Washington DC.
He never spoke to her. Not then. Not ever.
And yet, in the years that followed, her art became his therapy. Whenever life got too heavy, he'd look at it and breathe.
She had given him something no one else had: a sense of stillness in a restless world. A purpose when everything else felt hollow.
Now here she was again, drunk and hurting.
Sensing she might spiral further, Philip gently took her hand and led her back to the hotel. But instead of walking her to her room, he took her to his — not out of lust, but out of concern.
Still, Heather — intoxicated and vulnerable — was the first to lean in. Her fingertips brushed his cheek, unsure yet desperate for warmth, for something real to hold onto in a night filled with too much noise and not enough meaning. Her eyes, glazed with alcohol and unspoken heartache, searched his face for resistance. There was none.
Philip didn't move away. He couldn't. His own guard, usually impenetrable, had cracked under the weight of her presence. Maybe it was the way her voice trembled when she laughed. Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes that mirrored his own. Or maybe it was the simple fact that, for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel completely alone.
The kiss was hesitant at first, tasting of vodka and desperation. But it deepened quickly — slow, hungry, and reckless. Like they were both trying to escape something, or perhaps find something they had long lost.
One thing led to another. Words turned into sighs, touches turned into need. His hands found the curve of her waist, her fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer as if that closeness could erase every scar they carried. Neither of them thought. Neither of them cared.
Logic had no place in the haze they were wrapped in. The hotel room around them blurred — the muted lamplight casting golden shadows on bare skin, the soft rustle of sheets like whispers they'd never dare speak.
They didn't reach for protection.
They didn't pause to consider the consequences.
In that moment, nothing mattered except the temporary illusion that they were whole again.
It wasn't love. Not yet.
It wasn't lust either — not in the shallow, fleeting sense.
It was two broken souls, finding comfort in each other the only way they knew how. They were trying to feel. Trying to forget everything that had led them here. Just for one night.
Afterward, the silence was deafening.
Heather lay curled up on her side, facing away from him, her breathing steady but uneven. Philip watched her in the dark, wondering what the hell they had just done. He could still feel her lips on his skin, still hear the soft sounds she made, still remember the way her eyes widened for just a second, as if she wasn't sure whether to cry or hold him tighter.
He could not sleep that night.
Not because he regretted it — at least not yet. But because for the first time in a long time, he had seen someone else's pain so vividly. It haunted him. If he confessed to her earlier, she wouldn't face this heartbreak. She would be the happiest woman in the world, adore by him. But it was too little to late. But he promised himself to give Heather a happiness after this.
The next morning, Heather awoke to the sting of sunlight seeping through the curtains. Her head throbbed. The unfamiliar ceiling above her sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Then she turned — and saw him.
Philip. Asleep beside her. Bare. Peaceful.
The memories flooded back in pieces. The bar. The drinks. The kiss. The night.
What have I done...?
She slipped out of bed quietly, gathering her scattered clothes with trembling hands. Dressed once more, she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Goodbye, Philip." she whispered. "Thank you. I hope you find happiness... but I can't drag you into my mess."
Without leaving a note, she slipped out of the room and vanished down the hallway.
Minutes later, Philip stirred. His hand reached across the bed — empty. But his lips were warm, and his cheek still held the trace of her goodbye.
"She left... again." he murmured, eyes heavy with regret.
The girl he never forgot had come back into his life — only to disappear once more.
But this time, he wasn't going to let her vanish so easily.
YOU ARE READING
Euphoria
Romance"They say before eternal happiness appears, you have to overcome the nightmarish moments." In the island paradise of Koh Samui, one drunken night and an emotional outburst reunite Philip Kim, a charming attorney, with the woman who once unknowingly...
