May

She wanted to say she hadn’t thought about Bob at all until the next meeting, but she was lying to herself. She couldn't stop thinking about him—about his eyes, his awkward little smile, and that soft void she could feel inside him.

She hadn’t been attracted to anyone since before the Blip, and well, after the Blip, she was too busy trying to survive everything she’d lost in a blink.

Five years of her life down the drain had cost her even more years to addiction. And now that she was fine, love or attraction was simply something she wasn’t interested in. Nobody had made her feel any spark at all—

or at least, that’s what she thought.

Until Bob.

Because why was he making her feel as if she were a high schooler with a crush on a guy she had barely seen? He truly had no right to look that charmingly devastating. She imagined running into him at the grocery store. Maybe at the bookstore. Or perhaps he’d walk into the boba shop. She’d forgotten how fast time passed when you had something to fantasize about.

And just like that, the next meeting arrived.

As per usual, she went through the motions: reading the bulletin board, smiling at the familiar faces. And when she entered the meeting room, she found Bob finishing the setup of the chairs. He had his hands on his hips, admiring his job with a little smile. He appeared proud of it. He gave a hesitant wave to everyone coming in. So why was her heart beating so damn fast? Calm down. He’s just being polite with everyone. It’s not just you, she told herself as she took a seat and hoped she hadn’t blushed.

He glanced around, trying to figure out where to sit, when his eyes landed on her again. With a slow pace, he sat next to her, gave her a timid smile, then retracted into himself and started fidgeting with his pants, glancing around. Anxiety. She knew it damn well—she did similar things: picking the skin around her nails, bouncing her leg. Other times it was tapping, but she needed—craved—that constant movement to let it all out. She held her knee, forcing her leg to stop, and Bob’s eyes flicked back to her. She smiled softly at him, and again, he gave her that damn smile.

The meeting went by in a blur. She barely registered who shared what. Bob was too distracting. Her focus shifted between the people speaking and the brunette beside her—fidgeting, shifting in his seat, nodding slightly at certain stories. Maybe the parts he related to. His restless rhythm—tapping, bouncing—mirrored hers. She didn’t speak. Neither did he.

It wasn’t until the chairs started scraping against the floor that she realized the meeting was over. She stood slowly, a bit disoriented, trying not to gaze his way. But when she reached for her chair to stack, Bob was already there, lifting his and hers with a quiet clatter. Their fingers brushed by accident. They both froze.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

“Thank you,” she said at the same time.

He gave her that timid, shy smile again—the one that knocked the air out of her lungs and made her heart beat as if it wanted to escape out of her chest—then looked away, as though he regretted smiling at all. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and glanced around. Some people were still chatting by the door, others had already left. With the meeting over and fewer people around, it somehow felt easier to talk. Lighter. A weight had lifted.

“You came back,” she said, her tone bright with practiced warmth—the same one she used with customers at work.

He locked eyes with her, surprised—either that she was speaking to him or that she had noticed. “Yeah... I almost didn’t.”

“Me neither,” she said, fidgeting with the ends of her sweater. “Every week, actually.”

“I’m Bob,” he said, shifting the chairs easily into one arm and offering her a hand.

She shook it, introducing herself too. “I know.” Her voice softened. “I was here last week too.”

He chuckled nervously. “You didn’t speak.” His eyes widened. He dropped her hand quickly. “I mean… I remember you.” It came out as though it was an apology.

She shrugged. “I don’t. Never do.” She took a step towards him, a playful grin on her lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m not listening.”

They paused. Silence. Just not the uncomfortable type.

He let the chairs rest against his legs and exhaled. “It’s hard,” he murmured. “I don’t even know if I ever will.”

“Good thing is, you don’t have to,” she said, voice steady, supportive or at least she hoped. “Just showing up is enough.”

Bob gazed at her again, smiling.

They kept chatting as he finished putting the chairs away and walked out together. Nothing about the past. Not yet. Just the weirdly humid weather, a pizza place with killer garlic knots nearby, a sci-fi book he enjoyed, and the last show she had been watching.

The conversation was light. Safe.

Her heart, no longer pounding, had settled into an easy rhythm.

She didn’t flinch when their fingers brushed.

Didn’t brace for the awkward silence that never came.

Didn’t felt the need to fill the silence either.

Instead, she found herself breathing easier, standing closer to him—as if her body already trusted his quiet presence and was drawn to his light.

Something clicked in her chest. Maybe in her soul.

Notes: I love Bob, he is like, big but small at the same time and I just wanna put him in my pocket and give him lots of mimos and kisses and keep him safe forever? okay well, english is not my first languague, I am high af, and i hope you guys want part 2?

When the dark dresses lightly

It wasn’t about healing anymore, or at least that’s what she told herself as she entered the old grey building. It was about routine—reading the activities for the upcoming weeks on the bulletin board. About showing up—helping set the chairs in a circle. About pretending—smiling at the familiar and new faces that came and went. A Fake-it-till-you-make-it mentality. She was fine. Absolutely fine. Normal stuff: getting Blipped, missing five years of your life in a blink, finding out family members had died, your boyfriend had married someone else, and your childhood home now belonged to someone else. She had nowhere to go but the obvious. It started with some light alcohol, then moved to pills, and before she even realized it, she was losing herself to all and any junk she could find. Part of her wondered if the Blip was similar to being dead—and if so, she was fine with it. That darkness, that cold and welcoming void of nothingness, was perhaps a gentler destiny than the life she was living. However, one OD too many had her scrambling for help, crawling out of the darkness as she never had before. And fuck, she had never wanted to live more than when she almost died. And it was that same anxiety —that fear— that kept her going. She was clean, thank you very much. She now had a tiny apartment decorated with all the trinkets, plants, and art that made her happy. She had a job at a local vinyl shop. She even had a dog that she woke up to feed and walk every day. She had some friends. She went to the movies, the library, concerts, NA meetings… She was someone reliable. So yes, she was fine. Just fine. The meeting started the same way it always did. Same introduction, same prayer that she repeated out of habit, and then came the introduction and sharing part. She had never spoken. Not today. Maybe never.

But she did listen carefully to everyone’s experiences. She tried to memorize their faces and their stories, and hoped to see them in the next meeting. Her eyes darted from face to face, stopping on the new one—and her heart skipped a bit. He seemed so small. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie, his hair a light brown that covered most of his face, and he was staring down, fidgeting with his fingers. His lips were moving, but he wasn't speaking out loud… at least not to the group. And perhaps saying he was small was an exaggeration—even from across the room, she could tell he was way taller than her—but there was something in his demeanor, as if he wanted to just hide under his clothes. There was just something about him that struck her as so lost, so small. She let out a soft gasp and glanced away when the man’s eyes met hers. She hadn’t looked away from a man’s gaze since high school, but there she was, acting as if she was a teenager, at an NA meeting nonetheless. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, and she suddenly found something very interesting about the lines on the floor as people kept sharing their name and experiences. Her leg was bouncing distractingly.

There were some long moments of silence where nobody jumped in, but with a clumsy movement—as if he wasn’t aware of his own strength—the man got up, almost knocking the chair over. He focused on some point in the wall apologetically as he fixed the chair, then cleared his throat.

“Hello… my name is Bob.” She locked eyes with him directly.

Bob.