Ella
The bar was dimly lit, its ambiance intensified by the low hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the soft strains of ambient music. Golden chandeliers, casting sporadic glows, adorned the room, contrasting the otherwise dark woodwork.
I felt the cool leather of the bar stool beneath me as I observed the people around, each of them engrossed in their own narratives, oblivious to mine.
It’s amazing how, even in a room full of people, you can feel alone, disconnected. My fingers absentmindedly played with the stem of my wine glass as I lost myself in my thoughts, waiting for Logan to return.
“Is this seat taken?” The voice was suave, a touch too smooth. Turning slightly, I found myself looking up at a tall man, his finely tailored suit hinting at wealth and power.
