No More Encounters for All Our Days
Language: en
Seven years after Celeste’s supposed death, I stumbled upon her while promoting drinks at a high-end club. The moment she saw me, she instinctively recoiled, ducking behind the bartender as if trying to melt into the shadows. My gaze didn't linger for a second. I continued to introduce the whiskey in my hand to the customer. When my shift ended, she was blocking the employee exit, her expression a complex palette of emotions, like a spilled paint tray. “Ethan, all these years… how have you been?” I didn't answer. I just pulled on my food delivery jacket, put on my helmet, and looked…