Sharing her pain with a stranger.
Chapter 4
Sharing her pain with a stranger.
"I'm your lucky co-passenger. We met on the flight, remember?" The voice sounded scornful, and it reminded Esme of the obnoxious yet handsome man she had encountered earlier. She fumed at the thought that he might have been tracking her to get her number.
"What do you want?" Her words were clipped, her irritation evident in her tone.
"You've taken my bag," he accused.
Esme gasped, her eyes darting to the bag on the sofa. In a moment of realization, she recognized that it wasn't hers, even though it shared the same black color.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she acknowledged her oversight, having hastily grabbed a similar-looking bag without verifying its ownership. She pondered how to apologize to the man on the phone.
"I called out to you, but you just walked out without looking back," he continued, his tone now tinged with irritation. "Return my bag right away, or else I'll toss your bag in the garbage."
Esme sighed, recalling the distant shouts she had ignored at the airport in her haste.
"Calm down, Mister whatever," she retorted flatly, trying to quell the escalating tension. "I'll return your bag. Don't worry. Where should I meet you?"
After a brief pause, she heard him instruct, "Moon's bar."
With that, the line went dead, leaving Esme feeling frustrated and confused. She had no choice but to comply with the man's demands, hoping that this awkward encounter would soon be over. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the bag and headed out into the night.
Upon reaching Moon's bar, her grip on the bag tightened reflexively as she scanned the crowded venue, searching for any sign of the man she was supposed to meet. The music was loud and the atmosphere was lively, but she couldn't help feeling a sense of unease as she searched for the stranger.
The bustling atmosphere made it challenging to spot anyone specific. Frustration crept in, and she reached for her phone, contemplating calling him.
Before she could dial, a tap on her shoulder startled her. Turning, she found a towering man, the same one who had swapped seats with her during the flight.
"You!" Esme raised her eyebrows in surprise at the unexpected encounter.
"Yes," he responded with a smile. "My boss is waiting for you. Please, this way."
'Boss!' The revelation surprised Esme. The man she found so arrogant turned out to be this gentleman's employer. A sense of empathy welled within her as she followed him, contemplating how he coped with such a boss—someone so haughty and dismissive.
As they approached the opposite side of the bar, Esme couldn't help but notice the man sitting on the sofa, sipping his whiskey. He looked utterly breathtaking like a Greek god descended from Mount Olympus. His youthful appearance and rugged charm left her momentarily stunned.
Dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, his muscles flexed as he lifted his glass to his lips. His broad shoulders seemed to emanate powerful energy, making Esme feel feminine and delicate in comparison. His chiseled jawline and sharp nose added to his striking features, leaving her in awe.
Esme couldn't deny his undeniable attractiveness. In comparison, she felt self-conscious, still clad in the same skirt and top she had put on that morning. Her eyes were undoubtedly showing signs of crying, making her feel disheveled and emotionally worn.
With a quick brush of her hand over her skirt and a swift attempt to tidy her hair, she approached him, trying to shake off her nervousness. She intended to return his bag and leave without making a fuss about her mistake.
"Hello, Mister whatever," she greeted him, attempting a bold tone. "I brought your bag. Where is mine?"
He glanced up at her and then nodded to the bag beside the sofa.
Esme saw her bag. "Thank you." She placed his bag beside the sofa and retrieved hers. She prepared to take her leave when she heard his unexpected request.
"Would you mind joining me for a drink?"
Esme hesitated for a moment, contemplating the idea. She had just ended a relationship. It would be perfectly acceptable if she agreed to have a drink with a handsome guy. Julian might be having a good time with Ruby. Why couldn't she indulge a bit?
"Sure. Why not?" She responded with a smile, taking a seat on the sofa beside him.
The man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "So, what drink will this beautiful lady prefer?" He casually sipped his whiskey as he inquired.
Esme eyed the amber liquid in his glass. She wanted something strong, something to dull the ache in her heart. Flashing a playful smile, she responded, "I'd prefer whiskey."
"Alright!" He raised an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting her choice. He thought she would ask for a cocktail. Nonetheless, he didn't mind. "Here is your drink," he said, preparing a glass and handing it to her.
"Thank you, Mister..." Esme began.
"Silas. My name is Silas," he interjected with a smirk, revealing his name.
"Oh, Silas. Well, I apologize for my mistake. I was in a hurry at the time, and I didn't hear you calling me," Esme explained.
"It's okay. You returned my bag. That's all that counts to me," Silas replied with a casual shrug, dismissing any inconvenience.
As Silas casually sipped his drink, he couldn't help but notice Esme's red-rimmed, swollen eyes. It was evident she had been crying, prompting an unexplained urge in him to understand her distress.
"Who has made you cry?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued as he observed her closely.
His direct question took Esme by surprise. She felt a pang of realization that her emotional state might have been more visible than she had thought.
'Is it that apparent?' She mused inwardly, acknowledging her tear-stained appearance. It struck her that a stranger could perceive her pain while the man she had devoted herself to for so long had callously shattered her heart, leaving her in agonizing turmoil.
With a swift gulp, she downed her whiskey, setting the glass firmly on the table. "Why do you want to know?" she countered, her voice guarded. "You don't know me." Her suspicion was evident in her gaze, with her head slightly tilted.
"Yes, we are strangers," Silas conceded with a nonchalant shrug. "But I want to listen. It might help you ease your pain. Sharing your troubles with someone can alleviate the burden. That's what I've heard. And sharing with a stranger can often feel safer."
Esme poured herself another generous drink, swallowing it in one swift motion, feeling the fiery burn as it went down her throat.
Silas was taken aback by her drinking pace, sensing the depth of her distress. He sympathized with her and grew increasingly curious to know what troubled her so much.
Esme took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My boyfriend," she said quietly, her voice cracking slightly. "We were engaged for two years, and he just dumped me out of nowhere. He said he didn't love me."
Silas's expression remained neutral, but his eyes showed a hint of sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said gently. "It sounds like a really tough situation."
Esme poured some more whiskey into her glass. "My stupidity put me in this predicament. I am now in this situation because of my own faults." A self-deprecating smile flashed across her face. "Yes, I am stupid and pathetic."
"No, you aren't." Silas couldn't agree with her. "Everyone made mistakes. It doesn't mean that you should berate yourself like this."
Her eyes teared up, and she took another swig, turning her face away to conceal her emotions.
"I came here to surprise my fiancé," she scoffed bitterly. "Only to find out he had been cheating on me. I foolishly dismissed the rumors, despite knowing he was paying her rent. I went out of my way to support him, help him achieve his career dreams, and wait for him to reach the pinnacle of his career. But he forgot my sacrifices and my love for him. He shattered my heart and accused me of being selfish, insecure, and jealous."
The last word hung heavy in the air, echoing with finality. Esme's eyes overflowed with tears, streaming down her face as she stared at Silas with a mixture of anger, sorrow, and disbelief.