The sun cuts through the glass of the panoramic window, blinding me for a moment.London's heavy clouds have parted in a temporary miracle, and now everything outside looks clearer, more alive — a stark contrast to what's happening inside me.
My eyes follow the buildings in the distance, but my mind is miles away.
"Ravi?" Pedro's voice pulls me out of the trance. "Do you want to give your opinion on this?"
It takes me half a second to process the question. I'm in a meeting. Conference room. Headquarters. My suit is impeccable, the table is covered with projected charts, and the company partners are staring at me, waiting for something brilliant to come out of my mouth.
I do what I do best — pretend I'm in control.
"What was Jackson's suggestion again?" I ask, looking at the CFO.
"That we reconsider the assets in the Dubai portfolio. There's a risk of political instability and…" he starts to repeat, but I already know what to say. I don't even need to hear the rest.
"Keep the assets. Instability also creates opportunity." My tone is firm, and everyone nods. "And if things go south, we can absorb the loss. The risk is worth the gain."
Pedro gives me that knowing grin — the one that says he caught me drifting, but no one else noticed.
The meeting goes on, and I keep pretending to care about the details, even though part of me just wants silence.The kind of silence that only comes when you've lost something irreplaceable.
When it's finally over and the others leave the room, Pedro drags a chair next to mine, just like he's done for years.
"You're in your bubble again, aren't you?" he says, resting his elbows on the table.
"I'm focused," I lie, leaning back.
"Focused, my ass. You were in Narnia." He laughs softly, then looks at me with a bit more care. "It's been a year, huh?"
I close my eyes for a moment. A year.
A year since the accident.Since I lost my entire world in a stupid crash on a slippery country road.I lost my wife… and the daughter she was carrying.
We were still arguing over names. She wanted something classic, like Helena. I teased her, said it sounded like the name of a Greek queen — and she'd smile and say that's exactly why she loved it.All I ever wanted was to hold her. The name didn't matter. It never did.
But I didn't even get that.
I woke up in the hospital to the news — and a hole where my future used to be.
Since then, I've been living on autopilot. I buried myself in work, grew the company, tripled the investments, turned into a machine. And everyone thinks that's admirable. Only Pedro knows it's just a pretty way to run away.
"It's Friday," he says, breaking the silence. "I booked a table at our usual pub. Everyone's going. And before you say no, I already told them you're coming. So deal with it."
"Pedro…"
"No excuses, Ravi. You need to go out. Even if it's just to drink a bitter beer and complain about life."
"I haven't been complaining about life."
"No," he says, standing, "because you've been avoiding living it."
He grabs his jacket and slings it over his shoulder. "See you there at seven. Don't make me come get you."
He's gone before I can actually refuse. And maybe, deep down, he's right.
London has a strange charm on Friday nights. People pack into pubs like that pint could save their week — and sometimes, it really does.
When I get to our favorite spot, The Hollow Oak, there's already a group of familiar faces laughing in the corner.
Pedro spots me first, raising his glass in a silent invitation to drop the armor. I walk over, and he immediately pulls up another chair.
"Thought you'd bail," he says.
"Still considering it," I reply, sitting down.
The table talk is light — investments, football, the new assistant at the firm who's already the subject of bets on how long she'll last. I smile here and there, pretend to listen, but my attention drifts.
At least until my eyes land on the bar.
She's facing away, but her presence catches me instantly — the bartender.
Brown hair pulled into a messy bun, a black T-shirt hugging her figure, her movements sharp and precise, almost mechanical.
She wipes the counter with focus, as if each inch she cleans is a small victory. But there's something in her shoulders — a weight, a tension. It's not just fatigue. It's more than that.
Something inside me recognizes that kind of pain.
As if she too is holding herself together on the outside while everything inside her falls apart.
She turns quickly to grab a drink, and our eyes meet for a fleeting second. And just for that ridiculously small moment — I forget how to breathe.
She looks away and goes back to work.
But I keep looking.
I stand without thinking. Don't say a word to the guys. I walk toward the bar, eyes fixed on her, like something beyond me is pulling the strings. It's not thirst. Not curiosity. It's that kind of pull you can't explain.
She finishes serving a woman in the corner and turns to me. Her brown eyes meet mine — alert, but not defensive.
"What'll it be?" she asks, her voice carrying a light accent — maybe Brazilian.
"A beer, please. Anything bitter enough to make me forget the week."
She gives a faint smile, and for the first time in months, I feel air filling my lungs differently.
"We've got an IPA that does the job well." She grabs a bottle and sets it down in front of me with practiced ease.
"You sound like you know what you're talking about," I say, trying not to sound like an idiot.
"Working here for two years has earned me an informal degree in hangovers," she replies, laughing softly.
The sound hits me hard — light, genuine, beautiful.It's been a long time since I've heard someone laugh like that — unfiltered, effortless.
"Then I guess I came to the right place," I say.
"Seems like everyone does. Fridays have that effect on people."
She's being polite, maybe just doing her job, but something in the way she speaks… holds me.There's fatigue in her voice, a quiet exhaustion that doesn't match her smile.
"The weather's been weird today, huh? The sun came out in London. That always makes me suspicious," I say awkwardly, just to keep the conversation going.
She smiles again.
"I get suspicious too when the sky decides to be kind. It's almost like it's apologizing for the storm that's coming."
Her words take me by surprise — clever, poetic, real.
I want to say something else, ask her name maybe — but I don't get the chance.
"Raaavi!" Pedro yells from across the pub. "You gonna confess your love to the bartender or come drink with us?"
She laughs again, this time covering her mouth with her fingers.
"Your friends seem fun."
"They talk too much." I grab the bottle and hold her gaze for another second. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
I walk back to the table with the strange feeling that something small — almost imperceptible — just shifted.
I don't know her name.But I know her smile is going to stay with me for days.
And for the first time in a long while…I want it to.