I first notice her behind the bar, darting between bottles on the shelf, her loose hair billowing around narrow shoulders, reflecting the neon light as she moves, unsure but determined in her dancing.
The second time I notice her, it’s at the bathroom sink before I leave, her face aglow with adrenaline. Our eyes meet briefly, then we share a shy smile.
It isn’t until I get home that I really see her, exhausted and makeup sweated off, but vibrantly alive. I can’t resist reaching out to brush her cheek.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I whisper to myself in the mirror.
This story is part of No Novel November, a daily microfiction challenge. If you'd like to know more and/or join in, click here.
