The rain drummed against the bar windows with the same persistence as the old clock behind the counter. The murmur of conversation blended with a jazz tune that barely filled the silences.
He walked in a few minutes before ten, leaving a trail of droplets on the wooden floor. His hair was damp, he wore a dark coat, and he had that expression of someone carrying too much on their shoulders. He didn't seek company. He sat at the far end of the counter and ordered a Coke, which I found strange—who orders that at a bar?
I was there with a half-finished glass of wine, looking a bit unkempt. He glanced up for just a second. It was enough to notice the way he avoided looking at anyone. There was something strangely familiar in the distance he maintained.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke. We only shared the same space, the same sound of rain, and the same weariness reflected in our eyes.
He turned slowly and looked at me with those almond-shaped eyes that I find so attractive.
—Excuse me, can you tell me the time?
He asked me.
