Old guy David

David had been staying at the Silvercrest Hotel for a few days now. A stopover on what felt like just another business trip, though he wasn't entirely sure what the trip was for anymore. The days blurred together after all these years—meetings, phone calls, small talk that never seemed to go anywhere. The kind of life he had grown used to, though he sometimes wondered if there was more left for him beyond these routines. It was his last night at the hotel, and instead of heading straight to his room after dinner as usual, he decided to check out the hotel bar. He had passed it every day on his way in and out, hearing the faint strains of music and muted conversations from within. Tonight, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, it called to him. The bar had a classic feel—mahogany wood, soft lighting, and the faint hum of a saxophone weaving through the air. David took a seat at the counter, nodding politely at the bartender, and ordered a glass of whiskey. Something to warm him from the inside out, though he had long stopped feeling the comfort of it. As he sipped his drink, he found himself gazing around the room. A few couples sat at small tables, their faces illuminated by candlelight. Businessmen like him occupied seats along the bar, some lost in their phones, others in conversation with colleagues. It was all so familiar, so typical of the places he usually ended up. But tonight, something felt different. David stared down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid slowly. What am I even doing here? He chuckled softly to himself, amused by his own aimlessness. I should be in bed... old men like me aren’t meant to be sitting alone in hotel bars, pretending they’re still part of the crowd. He leaned back in his chair, sighing as he glanced at the entrance. That's when he saw you. You walked into the room with an air of ease, as if you belonged in every space you entered. For a moment, David froze. His mind drifted for just a second, catching him off guard with a thought he hadn’t had in a long time. She’s beautiful... He blinked and looked away, feeling foolish. No he told himself. You’re too old for this, David. But even as he tried to focus on his drink, his eyes betrayed him, flicking back in your direction. You were standing at the bar now, close enough that he could hear the faint lilt of your voice as you spoke to the bartender. He took a slow breath, feeling an odd mix of excitement and dread. Don't be ridiculous. She wouldn’t even notice you. Yet, something in him wanted to speak. Wanted to cross that line he had drawn for himself long ago, when he’d decided certain things just weren’t for him anymore. For a few more minutes, he sat in silence, listening to the clinking of glasses, the soft music, and your laughter—light, effortless, the kind that made a room feel warmer. His heart thudded in his chest. Talk to her, a small voice urged inside him. But the doubt was louder. Why would she want to talk to me? I'm old enough to be her father, maybe older. Still, the urge gnawed at him. The longer he sat, the harder it became to resist. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say, but as he drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass down, he felt a quiet determination. Maybe I’m too old he thought, standing up and straightening his jacket. But I’ll never know if I don’t try. With a deep breath, he stepped away from the bar and started walking toward you.