The night had fallen heavy over the city, and so had Monty's heart.
With trembling hands, he turned the key in his luxury car's ignition and sped out into the darkness, the roar of the engine unable to drown the noise inside his head. Thoughts of Romy haunted him like shadows clinging to the soul. The image of Preety in Romy's arms—his Romy—was etched into his memory like a scar that wouldn't heal.
He needed escape. Or at least silence.
Monty pulled up outside an upscale bar, his breath shallow, his expression unreadable. He stepped in without a word, the scent of liquor and loneliness welcoming him like an old friend. He ordered whiskey—neat—and then another... and another. The alcohol scorched his throat, but it was the only fire he felt anymore.
Slumped against the plush leather booth, his vision blurred, memories dancing like ghosts in the amber light. He saw Romy's smile. Heard his laugh. Felt again the warmth of those hands... the soft brush of fingers that once lingered too long on his own.
And then—he saw him.
A stranger.
A man walked in and took the seat across from him—calm, confident, devastatingly handsome. Monty blinked, heart skipping. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
He looked like Romy.
Not exactly—but enough to shake Monty to his core. The curve of his jaw. The softness in his eyes. The way his lips curled, almost teasing.
Monty's breath hitched. His heart, raw and aching, began to pound. The alcohol buzzed through his blood like wildfire, lowering his guard, tearing down his walls.
He didn't think.
He simply felt.
Monty leaned forward, eyes locked onto the stranger's, and before a second could pass—he kissed him.
It was sudden. Desperate. A kiss drenched in grief and longing, in confusion and memory. His lips moved hungrily against the stranger's, searching—aching—for what was lost.
And to his surprise... the stranger kissed him back.
Their mouths moved together in a slow, searching rhythm. The kiss deepened, mouths parting slightly, breaths intermingling—warm, rushed, trembling. Monty's hands found the stranger's face, pulling him closer, as if trying to melt Romy's memory into reality.
The stranger let out a soft sigh, responding with a firm grip at Monty's waist, guiding the kiss into something unspoken—something aching and tender.
But for Monty, every second was both heaven and heartbreak.
Because even as he kissed the stranger, it wasn't him he wanted.
It was Romy.
And Romy would never be his.
Just as the kiss deepened—just as Monty lost himself completely in that fleeting illusion—something snapped inside him.
A flicker of awareness.
A whisper of clarity that cut through the haze of alcohol.
His lashes fluttered. His breathing stuttered.
What am I doing?
Monty's eyes opened fully—and in that instant, reality came crashing down like a wave of cold water. The man in front of him... was not Romy. He was a stranger. A complete, unfamiliar face now barely inches from his.
Monty recoiled.
With a startled gasp, he shoved the man away, wiping his lips as if trying to erase the guilt, the confusion, the longing he had poured into that stolen kiss. "No… no, I can't—" he muttered, his voice cracking.
He stumbled away from the booth, nearly tripping over his own feet as he pushed open the heavy door of the bar, the night air slapping his face like judgment.
Behind him, the stranger rose with a curious smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. There was something playful—almost too calm—in the way he followed Monty, as though this was just a game.
Outside, the streetlight buzzed dimly.
Monty staggered toward his car, his breath ragged, the alcohol still clouding his senses. His hand reached for the door handle… but never made it.
His legs gave way beneath him.
And with a soft thud, Monty collapsed onto the pavement beside his expensive car—his body still, his mind spinning, his heart shattered into a thousand unspoken pieces.
The stranger stood a few steps away, watching silently.
Then slowly… a knowing, almost naughty smile curved across his lips.