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Doubtless Opportunities Missed

Jack leaned against the bar, the noise of the pub buzzing around him. He liked this pub – dim lights, slightly sticky floors, and that old charm clinging to the walls, as if they'd absorbed every laugh and every secret shared. He looked at his watch, pretending he wasn’t already checking the door every few minutes. He took a deep breath, thinking, play it cool.


Then she walked in.


The whole room didn’t stop, like in some cheesy film, but Jack found himself glancing over again. There was something about her presence, like she was floating slightly above the mess of it all. Light brown hair, almost like the colour of his coffee before he stirred the sugar in. She didn’t notice him at first, busy unwrapping her scarf and shaking off the last of the autumn rain. But then she saw him, and her face softened.


'Hey, Jack,' she greeted him, slipping onto the stool next to him. Her voice always seemed to bring things down a notch, quieting the room in his head.


'You’re late,' he teased, though he hadn’t really been waiting long.


She rolled her eyes. 'You love that, don’t you? Always early so you can hold it over me.'


Jack chuckled, ordering her drink. He’d learned by now: gin and tonic, extra lime, just like she liked it. They made small talk, the kind that’s light and easy, but with an undercurrent of something more – something each of them kept tucked away, like a note in a pocket that never gets unfolded.


They talked about work, the weather, the state of the world. He found himself laughing more than he had in days. She was smart, sharper than she let on at first. Sometimes she’d say something, and he’d catch a glimpse of this whole other side of her, a depth she kept guarded. He wanted to ask her more, but he didn’t. Not yet.


It was getting late, but neither seemed in a hurry. They fell into a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, each lost in their own thoughts. Jack wondered if she could see it – the way he looked at her, the way he paid attention to every word, like he was collecting pieces of her. He could feel it, that unspoken thing, growing heavier between them, but he was too afraid to reach for it, like it might slip away if he did.


Just as he was thinking about how he might say something, she spoke up.


'Jack, have you ever thought about what you’d be doing if things were different?'


He glanced at her, surprised. He tried to read her expression, but she was looking down at her glass, fingers tracing patterns in the condensation. It was a simple question, but he felt the weight of it. He wanted to say yes, that he thought about it all the time. That maybe, just maybe, those ‘what ifs’ had something to do with her.


Instead, he took a sip of his drink and gave her a half-smile.


'Yeah,' he said quietly. 'I think we all do.'


Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he thought he saw something flicker there, something unspoken but understood. But then, as quickly as it came, she looked away, and the moment was gone, swallowed up by the noise of the pub and the night pushing on.


He felt the ache of it, but he didn’t push. They both knew something was there, lingering between words, but tonight wasn’t the night to say it. Maybe it never would be.


But for now, in this dimly lit pub with the sound of laughter around them, it was enough.

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