My body froze for a moment. What I had in my hands was an ordinary piece of paper, of simple weight, but its contents carried a devastating symbolic weight: the certificate of the end of a union. Margaret had always been an enigma to me on a personal level; as my advisor, our conversations rarely ventured outside of the academic orbit. I knew she was married, of course. Until recently, framed pictures with her husband decorated her shelf, serving as the only glimpse into her private life. Yesterday, I noticed that they had disappeared, but I didn’t ask any questions. Now, the explanation was right under my fingers.
I took the document with almost reverential caution. It was a photocopy; the signatures didn’t have the relief of fresh ink from a pen, but the names were there, definitive. I felt the weight of invading her privacy, but my eyes acted on their own, quickly scanning the lines. The divorce had been finalized just over a month ago.
It all made sense. The atypical disorganization, the tired look she tried to hide behind her glasses, and the sudden irritability. That mountain of papers was the reflection of a mind trying to stay occupied to avoid confronting the silence of an empty house. I placed the document in a prominent spot, determined not to pretend I hadn’t seen it; if she had lost it in that mess, it was my duty to return it.
My concentration was interrupted by the sound of the doorknob. Margaret entered holding a brown paper bag, the aroma of hot food instantly cutting through the cold air-conditioning.
“The delivery guy just let me know it arrived,” she said, walking to the small round table where we usually had less formal advising sessions. “Let’s eat, Luke. The work can wait for twenty minutes.”
She started unpacking the meals with swift gestures, trying to maintain the façade of normalcy. I stood up from her chair, holding the document I had set aside. I walked over to the table and, with as much subtlety as I could muster, slid the paper toward her.
“I found this in the paperwork,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I thought it was important and decided to hand it to you personally.”
Margaret’s eyes dropped to the paper. In that instant, the “iron woman” mask crumbled. Her hands froze mid-air, and I could see a painful transition in her expression: a mix of shock, guilt, and deep melancholy. For a long moment, time seemed to stand still in that cold room. She looked at the document as if it were an abyss.
“Margaret” I gently placed my hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension in her muscles. “Are you okay?”
She looked at me, confused, as if she had just woken up from a trance. She quickly adjusted her glasses and pulled the paper toward herself, trying to regain her composure.
“Oh, yes… Thank you for this, Luke,” she responded, her voice a little more choked than she would have liked. “I didn’t know where I had left it. It must have gotten lost in the mess.”
Her tone was downcast, devoid of the usual authority she carried. I felt the urge to step back, to tell myself it wasn’t my problem, but I couldn’t. When I see a woman going through something like this, my instinct to protect is louder than protocol.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
Margaret stared at me, surprised by my audacity, and let out a bitter laugh from the corner of her mouth.
“Thank you, Luke. But no. You don’t need to get involved in this. Besides… we’re student and professor.”
“Well… maybe in the classroom,” I retorted, holding her gaze. “But out here, in real life, we’re just people. We can be friends, Margaret.”
She realized I wasn’t just being polite; I was offering her a safe harbor. She sighed, placing the document in a locked drawer of the table.
“I truly appreciate the gesture. But you wouldn’t want to get involved in my problems.”
“If you knew the problems I’m involved in…” The words slipped out before I could filter them.
In a flash, I thought of everything: Bianca’s instability, Vanessa’s wounds, Olivia’s vulnerability, and Sofia’s possessive intensity. I was surrounded by complex women and dramas I couldn’t share with anyone, for fear of betraying the trust of all of them. I was the confidant for them all, but I had no one to listen to me.
Margaret studied me in silence for a few seconds, as if trying to decipher what lay behind my confession.
“If you ever need someone to talk to, you have my number,” I concluded the matter, sitting down at the table and opening my lunch. “Shall we eat?”
She nodded, and although the silence that followed was heavy, it was no longer the silence of two strangers. There was a new layer between us, something that made that moment much more personal than either of us was willing to admit aloud.
I knew I couldn’t let that heavy atmosphere settle permanently between us. To avoid the silence taking over the rest of the lunch, I took the initiative and changed the subject. I asked about her commitments for the afternoon; Margaret explained that she would have classes with another group while I would be tasked with taming that mountain of paperwork.
As soon as we finished eating, she left, leaving me alone in the cold sanctuary of her office. Luckily, she let me go early, telling me I could wrap up around 4:00 PM. The plan was simple: just leave the door slightly ajar when I left, as she would return shortly after. I dove into work with renewed focus, and the rhythm flowed well; soon, the bureaucratic chaos began to give way to neatly organized folders.
At 4:20 PM, I decided it was time to leave. Having been completely immersed in the task, I hadn’t checked my phone, and only then did I notice a message from Vanessa that had arrived some time ago. She suggested meeting at 7:00 PM at a new bar she was eager to check out. I quickly replied and headed for the car; I needed to rush home and get ready.
…
When I crossed the door into my apartment, the silence indicated that the place was empty. There was none of Bianca’s imposing aura in any of the rooms; by the time, she was surely still submerged in the company’s obligations. I knew that, before my meeting with Vanessa, she would inevitably arrive. Confrontation was just a matter of time, and I had a lot to say, but I decided I wouldn’t be the one to ignite the first spark. I would wait for her to act first; I wanted to see what her stance would be before I made my move.
Since it was still 5:00 PM, I had the luxury of almost two hours before heading out. But before anything, my stomach complained. I made myself a substantial chicken sandwich — a comforting habit that had stayed with me since childhood whenever I was home in the afternoon. After the snack, I retreated to my room and, this time, made sure to lock the door. I needed that moment of absolute privacy.
To unwind, I turned on my computer and played a few online games. Time seemed to fly as I alternated between the adrenaline of the plays; I finished with a positive record of two wins and one loss. When I finally looked at the clock, the hands were already pointing to 6:15 PM. I took a refreshing shower, chose an outfit that flattered me, and finished with a few spritzes of my favorite cologne.
Miraculously, by 6:30 PM, I was impeccable and ready to leave. As I crossed the hallway of the upper floor with my keys in hand, I heard the sound of running water in the bathroom. Bianca had arrived and was in the shower. I found it ironic how destiny conspired so that we wouldn’t cross paths, even though we shared the same roof. I descended the stairs lightly, feeling my phone vibrate with a message from Vanessa confirming that she was ready.
The drive to the venue was smooth. I managed to park ten minutes before our agreed time and stayed there, leaning against the car, killing time on my phone. A few moments later, a white sedan maneuvered and parked smoothly next to me.
From it emerged a vision that made the wait worthwhile. Vanessa was stunning. The short blue dress clung to her curves precisely, highlighting the whiteness of her legs and beautifully contrasting with her intensely dark hair and eyes. She walked toward me with graceful ease, her face lit up by a smile that her subtle makeup only enhanced further.
“Wow… did you dress up like this just to see me?” I asked, my tone both provocative and admiring.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she replied with a mischievous gleam in her eye. She closed the distance between us, planting a soft kiss on my lips. “You deserve the effort,” she added with a sweet smile.
“Shall we go in?”
“Definitely.”
Vanessa linked her arm with mine, and we walked toward the entrance. Being the newest spot in town, the bar was buzzing with energy and curiosity. The interior was captivating: indirect lighting, ambient music at a pleasant volume, and the scent of citrus drinks in the air. I noticed a staircase leading to an upper floor, but access was blocked; it seemed the opening of that area was still for a future date. We settled in, ready to see what the night had in store for us.
We chose a table strategically positioned in a more secluded corner, where the dimness embraced us and allowed the rest of the bar to fade into background noise. Like a good gentleman, I pulled out Vanessa’s chair, and she settled into it with the natural elegance of someone who knows they’re being watched. No sooner had we sat down, a waiter approached, handing us the menus with a polite nod.
“When you’ve made your choices, just press the red button, and we’ll come to your table,” the young man explained, pointing to the small device attached to the napkin holder.
It was a modern system; no papers or pens. Everything was processed digitally, a reflection of this new age where efficiency tried to replace human contact. Vanessa scanned the menu attentively.
“I think I’ll start with a Martini,” she said, closing the menu.
I examined the options, but most of the drinks seemed excessively ornamental, designed more for social media photos than for satisfying the palate. I opted for the classic: a Scotch whisky on the rocks.
“I’m not really a fan of Whisky,” Vanessa remarked with a half-smile, amused.
“That’s surprising, coming from someone who drinks straight vodka without blinking,” I teased, making her laugh lightly, which brightened her face.
The night flowed like the drinks. We made a silent pact to put aside our problems; her father, the university, Bianca… none of that was allowed to cross the threshold of the bar. We dove into funny memories, childhood stories, and plans that seemed possible under the rush of euphoria.
By the time I reached my third drink and Vanessa had already had her fifth, the alcohol had dissolved any remaining barriers of formality. We were in that dangerous and exciting stage of inebriation. That’s when I felt something sliding up my leg. A slow, exploratory movement. I looked at Vanessa; she had her elbows resting on the table and her chin in her hands, watching me with an intense, suggestive look.
Her foot glided across my thigh with a torturous smoothness, resting over my crotch. She wasn’t applying pressure, just marking her presence, a physical reminder of what she truly wanted. Her lips moved without making a sound, but the message was clear: “I want to do this.”
“Here?” I whispered, raising an eyebrow.
She simply nodded with a challenging gleam in her eyes. I pressed the red button. The waiter, a young guy who seemed new to the job, arrived promptly.
“What’s upstairs?” I asked, motioning toward the upper floor.
“It’s under construction, sir. We’re not opening it to the public yet.”
“Is there a bathroom up there?” I insisted, already having a plan in mind.
“There is, but…” He hesitated, sensing the electric tension between us. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t let you go up.”
Without saying another word, I took out a wad of bills from my pocket. I didn’t count, but it was a generous enough amount to buy his silence and cooperation. His eyes sparkled when he saw the money. He stretched out his hand, quickly pocketing the bills.
“Well… I think I can make an exception,” he said, tucking the money into his apron pocket. “There’s a service stairwell over there, behind that column. It’s more discreet. Almost no one uses it.”
“I’ll go ahead,” Vanessa murmured, winking at me before standing up and walking gracefully toward the shadow of the staircase.
“You’re a lucky man,” the waiter whispered, with a knowing look.
“I know. When we’re done, I’ll come back to settle the bill.”
I stood up and followed the trail of her perfume. The waiter gave me a thumbs-up signal before disappearing between the tables. I climbed the dark wooden steps, and when I reached the top, I was greeted by the dimness and the smell of fresh paint and construction dust. Vanessa was waiting for me in the shadows, leaning against an unfinished wall. As soon as she saw me, she leaped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist and kissing me with urgent, feverish intensity.
“The bathroom…” she gasped between kisses.
We fumbled through the dark floor, feeling our way between building materials until we found the door. It didn’t matter if it was labeled for men or women; we entered and locked the door, leaving the rest of the world on the other side. Vanessa shoved me against the toilet counter, making me sit down, and her nimble hands were already working on my belt, hastily unbuttoning my pants with a hungry urgency.
“I’ve missed this so much,” she whispered against my skin, the heat of her breath sending an electric shock through my body.
