Lina's POV
The thing about graduation is everyone expects you to have a plan. I didn't. I had a degree in business management that no one wanted to hire, a breakup that left me questioning every life choice I had ever made, and a bank account that laughed at me every time I logged in.
It was a Tuesday night, but I didn't care. Days had blurred into each other, and I had stopped keeping track. I had spent the afternoon scrolling through job listings that required ten years of experience for an entry-level position. I wasn't even sure how that was possible. Maybe the world had invented time travel and forgot to tell me.
I sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling like it had the answers. My phone buzzed. A text from Mika. Club? You need a drink. You need a distraction. You need to stop looking at your bank balance like it's a horror movie.
I stared at the message and debated for exactly two seconds. Then I threw on the first outfit I could find that didn't make me look like I was trying too hard or not trying at all. Somehow I ended up with a black top, jeans that were too tight but too comfortable, and boots that made me feel taller than my own confidence.
The club was loud and too crowded. Too everything. The bass rattled my ribcage, and the neon lights made everyone look like a mistake waiting to happen. I shoved my hair behind my ears, scanning for an empty spot at the bar.
He was there. The kind of guy who looked like he thought the universe had bent itself into a perfect shape just to accommodate him. Not my usual type, but whatever. At that moment, I didn't care about types. I cared about forgetting how miserable I felt.
We started talking. His name was… probably something forgettable, but I didn't ask. It didn't matter. He had a laugh that was too loud and eyes that lingered on me for too long. I let him buy me a drink, and then another. My defenses were down, which was a bad idea, but a necessary one.
By the time we were upstairs in a private booth that had this smell full of cheap cologne, I wasn't thinking about rent, my stupid degree, or the breakup. I was thinking about forgetting. Forgetting that I had been rejected by every company I applied to, forgetting that my ex had told me I'd never find anyone better, forgetting that I had to go back to real life after this night.
We instantly hit it off, and before we knew it we were dancing the night away on the crowded dance floor. As the music slowed down and the lights dimmed, the two of us found ourselves locked in a passionate embrace. Our bodies moved in sync as we whispered sweet nothings to each other, building up the tension and desire between us. I leaned in and kissed him gently and he pulled me over and carried me up, and my legs got wrapped around his waist. He kissed me back and his lips were so moist, his tongue trailed me to my mouth as his hand started from my leg to my laps and my ass and then my waist to my tits, the ring on his finger was what turned me on more. That damn ring on his finger .
My heart raced with excitement as I gave into the moment, lost in the pleasure of foreplay with this random guy I had just met. Little did I know It was a night I would never forget, and a reminder that sometimes the most unexpected connections can lead to unforgettable experiences.
It was… fine. Not perfect, not memorable, but exactly what I needed. And then it was over. And we fell asleep.
***
The morning light rolled in through the curtains and some random guy rolled over beside me too, trying to say something that sounded like a complaint, or maybe a suggestion that I stick around, but I didn't want to hear it. Not tonight.
I dug into my wallet. One hundred. Two hundred. The smallest bills I could find without feeling guilty for the rest of my life. I threw them on the bed between us like it was a ceremonial end to something that never mattered in the first place.
"That should be enough for you. Don't say I used or anything, use that to get a life for yourself."
He froze. Mid-sentence. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "Wait… you…what the fuck"
"Bye." I said. Smooth, confident, and practiced. Not really, but it sounded better in my head.
I left. Shoes clacking against the floor, lights reflecting off my hair, music pounding but I didn't care, I didn't look back. He yelled something, probably insults, probably begging, probably both, but I didn't care. I couldn't care.
On the walk home, I felt like a mix of every emotion I didn't have words for. Embarrassed, yes. A little proud, sure. Mostly, relieved. It was the only way I could leave without being trapped in some version of my own self-pity that night.
I cursed softly under my breath, thinking about what my mother would say if she knew. She'd be horrified. I'd have to lie or deflect if anyone asked. But no one would ask, because no one knew, because I didn't want anyone to know. And I wasn't about to tell Mika either, because she would laugh. She always laughed at me.
I got home and locked the door behind me, collapsing on my bed. My hair was sticking to my forehead, my legs were sore, and my head was spinning.
It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And maybe that made it perfect.
Because I had done something I had no right to do, something I probably shouldn't have done, and I had survived it. Barely. But still, I had survived. And that, in a world that kept slamming doors in my face, felt like a small victory.
The truth? I had no idea. But for now, I had $200 less, a weird story I wouldn't tell anyone, and the faint, desperate hope to never see him again.