#anthropologist

Please… do I have to go out tonight? you begged.

“Yes, it’s your 35th birthday, and you only get one of those.”

While, it might be special day for somebody else, to you it was just another constant reminder of how chronically lonely you were. You had been too busy, always prioritizing your career over relationships, which left you without ever finding something serious—even now, in the later stages of life. You groaned in defeat, admitting that one night of fun in your 30s couldn’t hurt. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Fine, I’ll meet you there at 9.”

Digging through your closet, you searched and searched for the perfect outfit. Looking over the mound of sweatshirts and crop tops, you found the lonely black mesh mini dress you had been hiding for years in the corner. It was purchased with the intent to wear on a date, but it sat unused and forgotten for three years. Maybe tonight would be the night. Maybe you’d finally meet somebody special, even if it only lasted a couple of hours. With the dress on and your hair perfectly curled back in a half-up, half-down ponytail, you headed out to meet your friends at the nightclub downtown.

“The Underworld” was the place to be on Friday nights. In your early 20s, it had been one of your favorite spots—you couldn’t recall a Friday night when you weren’t dancing on tables. But that was many years ago, and now stepping into the security line felt foreign. As you waited behind a couple of freshly 21-year-olds, you started to reminisce about the good old days when you didn’t have a care in the world and were just looking to enjoy the night. In your teenage years you used to sneak in with your older sisters using fake IDs, but now, with electronic scanners, it was impossible to even try.

Finally, it was your turn. You stepped up to the bouncer, who asked for your ID. It felt odd—four hours away from turning 35, you didn’t quite understand why he would ask, but you showed it anyway. After looking it over, he placed a gold wristband on your wrist. Strange, but it must have had something to do with your birthday. You thanked him and entered the club.

Just as you remembered, the bass was booming, blasting a high techno beat that thumped in your chest. Pushing past the crowd of people dancing and grinding, you rushed to the bar, urgently needing a drink if you were going to survive tonight. Your friends were already waiting in a booth in the VIP area, ready to celebrate your birthday, but you wanted a drink in hand before joining them.

“Reposado tequila and Red Bull, please.”

“All right, love, that’ll be $12.50.”

You nodded, digging into your purse for your wallet. The bartender glanced at your wrist and noticed the bracelet.

“I’m so sorry! I… I didn’t know. Your drinks are on the house tonight! Again, I’m so sorry for the mix-up—I didn’t realize!” he rambled.

You figured it was some kind of birthday discount tied to the bracelet.

“Oh, it’s all good. I know it’s busy in here. I’m just grateful for the discount on such a special night.”

You lifted the glass to your lips, letting the burn of tequila mix with the sweetness of the energy drink. The crowd pulsed around you, neon lights flashing across the room, and for a moment you felt suspended between past and present. That’s when you noticed him—tall, broad-shouldered, cutting through the chaos like the music bent to his stride. People seemed to shift unconsciously out of his way, their laughter dimming as he passed, as if the air itself thickened around him. His eyes locked onto yours, and the room’s rhythm faltered, the beat suddenly feeling slower, heavier, more deliberate.

Before you could process it, he was in front of you, his hand firm at your waist as he pulled you into the sway of the music. Careful not to spill your drink, you danced. The crowd blurred, the bass thumped, and suddenly it was just the two of you moving together. His voice rumbled low, close to your ear:

“How’s my birthday girl?”

He smirked, leaning into you just enough to let the words linger.

“I don’t like being called girl. I’m a woman… and if you insist on titles, goddess will do”

His lips brushed against the skin between your throat and shoulder, laughter vibrating against you like a secret only you could hear.

“Of course my angel would prefer goddess.”