After some days, the rain had stopped.

At first, I was glad. Relieved that my shoes wouldn’t get soaked anymore, that wet clothes wouldn’t cling to my skin.

But the second I stepped outside, everything felt off. The air was thick and heavy with humidity. The clouds stretched across the entire sky, hanging low in that threatening shade of gray. There wasn’t even a hint of clearing up. Not a single ray of sunlight.

I told myself not to read into it. The weather was just weather. It didn’t mean anything.

But as I walked down the street, I realized I didn’t have the effort to find something good in it in me anymore.

My eyes didn’t linger on the glossy sidewalks or the puddles or the way the lights reflected in them.

None of that.

Now everything looked wet. Cold. Gray.

He’s just busy, I reminded myself.

He hadn’t forgotten me. He was… occupied.

I’d repeated that thought so many times, using it like a shield, that it was starting to turn hollow.

Because no matter how tightly I clung to it, the fact stayed the same.

He still wasn’t there.

The energy that had carried me through the days started to thin out. I couldn’t keep the same pace anymore. Tasks that had been easy began to weigh on me.

Kazuo, on the other hand, seemed to ignite.

He came up with one idea after another. Every day there was another new project, another thing that “really needed doing.”

This time it was the menu. He said it looked ancient. Half the items were crossed out and were no longer available.

“We need a new one,” he said. “Updated. Luka, you do it.”

We’d known each other long enough that there was no way he hadn’t noticed my mood. That was probably exactly why he was trying to pull my attention away from whatever spiral my head was stuck in.

As much as his sudden burst of energy grated on me and as much as my brain was trying to latch onto the negative, I still went along with whatever he came up with.

Being busy was better than rotting in my own thoughts.

That was why I now stood there, staring at the old menu.

The paper had clearly seen better days, and parts of the print had faded. Some sections obviously needed to be rewritten because they were long outdated.

There was a lot of work, but my mind was wandering somewhere else. Focusing on the task was nearly impossible. And that only made it even more irritating.

I let out a breath, reached for a blank sheet of paper, and started sketching out a rough layout of what our new menu could look like.

I’d barely managed to put even a fraction of what was in my head onto paper when the bell above the door rang. I flinched and tensed up, forcing myself not to turn around. That would’ve been pathetic.

It seemed as if everyone in the bar could tell something was wrong with me, so I had to stay in control.

Day after day, that damn bell grew more and more irritating. It pressed against my skull, reminding me it was not him, that he had not walked in, that too much time had already passed.

Now the bell was mocking me.

One day slid into the next without anything really changing. By the time I realized it, the second week was nearly over.

Outside, it grew colder and colder, the warmth stripped from the city. The sky darkened further, and the clouds hung lower, reaching toward the rooftops, threatening to graze them.

It was obvious that it would rain again soon.

The following week was awful.

I slipped into a strange state I couldn’t even put into words. It was a messy mix of sadness, regret, disappointment, and a complete lack of desire to do anything at all.

All I wanted was to hide in my apartment and not step outside. If it hadn’t been for the bar, for the simple need to work, I was sure that’s exactly what I would’ve done.

Kazuo eventually accepted that whatever spark I’d had was gone. His attempts to distract me, to bury me in tasks, stopped working. The last time he asked me to help with something, I dropped a crate of bottles. Glass shattered everywhere. I cut myself in the process and ended up with my hand wrapped in bandages for days.

Luckily, it didn’t interfere much with making drinks. The rain had chased most customers away again, leaving only a handful of regulars scattered around the bar.

Kazuo hovered, worried. He told me more than once to go home and get some rest. But home was worse. The silence there pressed down on me until it was unbearable. It made me want to cry.

I’d made a mistake.

I shouldn’t have opened up. I shouldn’t have trusted him. I should’ve paid attention to how easily he’d driven away. How simple it’d been for him.

To him, it’d been nothing.

To him, I’d been nothing more than a curious little thing. Something new. Something impossible to figure out, and therefore interesting.

Something fun to observe, like an animal in a damn zoo.

Just someone hiding behind a mask, creating intrigue about what was underneath.

And the moment he found out, the interest vanished.

That thought carved out an unpleasant emptiness in my chest, something that was no longer possible to fill with work, conversation, rest, or any of it.

I should have known my place.

Who was I to hold someone’s interest for that long? Why had I let myself imagine anything more?

What kind of idiot did that make me?

At times, I sank into a pit so deep, filled with self-pity, that there was no way out of it.

Other times, I climbed the opposite peak, swept over by anger. Anger at him. Anger at myself. Anger at this damn situation and at my own feelings.

Sometimes I caught myself wondering what I would say to him if he suddenly appeared at the door of our bar.

I imagined telling him everything. Telling him how much it pissed me off. Asking him not to come back anymore. Saying I was done. That I was tired. Tired of the ache, of the weight that had settled in my chest.

In a few weeks, I went from someone full of energy and optimism to someone who could barely function.

And he’d done this to me.

No.

I’d done this to myself. I’d imagined too much. Read too deeply. Let myself hope where I shouldn’t have.

So what was the point of saying anything to him at all? What good would it do?

None.

Another day passed. The rain outside had softened into a steady drizzle. The bar became a little more crowded. Not like before, but enough to bring the place to life.

The bell above the door rang.

I didn’t stop working, mixing a cocktail for one of the customers. There was no reason to react anymore.

“Good evening,” said a familiar voice.

Heat rushed through my body, followed immediately by relief so intense it made my knees weak. It was as if everything that had been choking me, all the pain, all the doubt, all the bitterness that had clung to my heart, evaporated in an instant.

It was like a ray of sunshine breaking through thick clouds.

Like I could finally breathe again.

It was him.

He was standing right in front of me.