5 - saw you walk inside a bar
He tried to think of ways he could get in touch with her again.
He had deleted her phone number the night she left. She wasn't on any social media platform. If he reached out to one of their mutual friends, he was certain they'd scoff and say,
That's not a good idea. It's been seven months, man. You really need to get over it.
NO. Are you kidding me? You literally broke her heart and now you want to- what, get in her pants again?
Mm, I don't think she'd like that.
The short answer to all the different reactions being, no.
As he scrolled though his phone, trying to remember if he saved her number anywhere at all, he lifted his head at the sound of people walking into the bar.
He froze.
It was her.
With him.
He couldn't freak out again.
Thankful (but at the same time not) that her attention was focused on the man beside her, he quickly flipped his hood over his head and turned his back towards them, taking another sip of his beer. They didn't sit at the bar, but at a table somewhere behind him so he couldn't hear their conversation very clearly- just murmurs.
Still cowering at the end of the bar, a realization dawned on him; this was the perfect opportunity to get her number. The only thing was, she was here with someone else...
But did that matter?
No. Why should it matter? He could just be the old friend wanting to catch up with her if the question arose. But who was he kidding? Both of them knew that whatever he got out of getting her number, would be the farthest thing from 'friendship.'
"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath as he took another long swig of his beer and stood up. He was about to turn around and approach the two when a sound made him stop in his tracks.
Paralyzed, he listened.
YOU ARE READING
Another Almost
Short Story❝ i saw you in another's arms ❞ . . . Sometimes, fate doesn't let two souls make a love story. . . . Whether he had been ready to let her go or not didn't matter in the slightest when she left. In the months after, refusing to mope around, he set ou...
