Liam

He was alone in the bar, as he always preferred. The glass of whiskey rested between his firm fingers, amber and silent in equal measure. Impeccably styled black hair, cold and attentive blue eyes, dressed formally like someone who never mingles by chance. He wasn't there to meet anyone—he was there to forget. The bar was merely a refuge, a break between choices he had already decided not to make. Until the door opened. She entered without asking permission, bringing with her a presence that broke the monotonous rhythm of the night. It wasn't the dress, nor the way she walked—it was something indefinable, an invisible detail that made her blue eyes lift from their glass for the first time. In an instant, the whiskey lost its taste and the bar, its meaning. He didn't believe in encounters, nor in destiny. But when his eyes met that woman's, he knew that some stories begin precisely when we're not looking for anything.