Place

November.
It was cold and damp outside, with brown leaves being blown around by the wind. I was tired and freezing. I should’ve parked closer, but I left the car a couple of blocks away.

The bar greeted me with a sticky warmth, mixed with the smell of spilled rum, cigarettes, and green felt.
I still felt the cold, biting into my fingers, my coat collar, the narrow gap between my scarf and neck. I took off my coat as I walked in, carelessly throwing it over my arm. The bar was quiet. Muffled voices, broken laughter, music — old, familiar. I listened to this song in the car earlier today.

I sat at the bar, picking a spot where there was less light. The bartender gave me a lazy look, nodding toward the rows of bottles behind him. I gestured for my usual whiskey. Macallan, of course. When he put the glass in front of me, I wrapped my hand around it, almost like I was trying to warm up with the cold glass.

I looked at my phone — still no messages from you.

The place was a little noisy, but the noise wasn’t overwhelming. Someone was playing billiards by the wall — the sound of the ball rolling across the felt cut through the hum of conversation. By the window, a couple was talking softly; there was a bottle of wine and two half-empty glasses between them. I only caught bits of their conversation: “accident,” “died on the spot,” “middle-age man.”

I felt a little uneasy, but I brushed it off. I’d come here to relax, after all. Whiskey isn’t something you drink in one gulp, so I wasn’t in a rush. Slowly warming up, I casually looked around the room. I wasn’t searching for anything in particular. No. My gaze caught on small details: a ring on someone’s finger, a scar running across a slender wrist, a bare ankle, an umbrella by the door.

And then I felt it. Like something invisible had brushed against me. I slowly turned my head.

You were sitting at the next table. Damn, you were oddly captivating — angular features, light hair tucked behind your ear. You were holding a glass of dark wine in one hand, while the other lazily played with a lighter on the table.

You were watching.

Not in a bold or provocative way — but just directly, without any hint of shyness. That gaze was almost unbearably calm, like you’d been waiting for me all along.

I caught your gaze and couldn’t look away, mostly because I didn’t want to. You raised your glass, gave a small smile at the corner of your mouth, but didn’t touch the wine. Just waiting.

I felt the urge to get up and walk over — this impulse washed over me. I even started to turn my body to stand up. But… no.

I held myself back. It took a lot of effort. I turned back to the bar, lowered my eyes to my glass. Took a deep breath.

The music kept playing, people drinking their wine… The world stayed the same.

I pulled some cash from my pocket, left it under my glass, and got up, putting my coat on. Weird — it felt heavier than usual.

"Damn, I've been walking here for quite a while. Where did I leave my car?"

At the door, I hesitated. I looked back — your gaze caught mine again. I could see confusion in it. And… annoyance. You didn’t look away. That’s when I stepped toward your table. As I got closer, I leaned in so our eyes were at the same level, and quietly said:

— You knew I’d come.

You raised an eyebrow slightly, a small smile forming.

— Of course, — you said. — You always come.

And only then did I realize that your face seemed strangely familiar. Angular features, light hair — you were too perfect, as if someone had cut you out of a picture from my past.

And then it hit me— I remembered you. We dated for a while and broke up in such a ridiculous way. But that was ages ago, and you haven’t changed a bit.

For a moment, the world around me froze.

I ran my hand over my face, trying to focus. And only then did I notice that my fingers were covered in blood. Fresh, dark blood, and I had no idea how it had gotten there. I also felt pain all over my body.

— What… what is happening? — I whispered, looking around the bar, but everything blurred, wavered, became just a trembling image.

You didn’t answer, but there was a hint of quiet sadness in your gaze. You’d been waiting for me to ask that.

— This place is an illusion. Remember. Remember how you got here.

And then, just like that, I remembered everything.

The road, the blurred lights, I was speeding down the highway, angry. I kept checking my phone. You hadn’t texted. And then… a sharp impact… Another jolt. The sound of shattering glass. Shards everywhere, twisted metal. And blood. My blood. Everywhere.

The bar vanished, you vanished. I wanted to step forward, but there was no space left.

November. It was cold and damp outside, with brown leaves swirling in the wind. I was tired and freezing. I should’ve parked closer, but I left the car a couple of blocks away. The bar greeted me with a sticky warmth…