The street – empty. Cold wind carried leaves. From afar – a neon sign: OBSIDIAN. The letter "O" flickered – like a heartbeat.
He entered. The door creaked. Inside – the smell of smoke, beer, sweat, jasmine perfume. The music – slow, the bass vibrating in the chest. Quite a lot of people: couples at the bar, a group of men in the corner, a girl in a red dress laughing loudly.
Tomas felt uncomfortable – social anxiety. He went to the bar.
The bartender – around 40, a beard, a tattoo on his arm: "Time heals."
– Hi. Is there somewhere I can sit so I can drink alone? – Tomas's voice low, without intonation.
The bartender observed him. Pale face, but attractive – high cheekbones, sharp jawline. Eyes – green, but cold. Empty. Sad.
– There, – he pointed to the farthest corner. A small table. One chair. Light – only a candle in a glass. – Ideal for loners.
– Thanks. A bottle of whiskey. A glass with ice.
He sat down. The ice rattled. The first sip – burned the throat. The second – warmed. The third – silenced.
In the bar everything slowed down. As if he were alone in the dark. People laughed, but the sound – distant. Like underwater.
– Rough day, kid? You look… well, like you've lost something precious, – the bartender approached later, wiping a glass.
– It's fine, – Tomas answered coldly.
Everyone says that, even though it's not fine.
Girls glanced around. One – a blonde – smiled: – Hey, handsome, want to sit with us?
He ignored her. Just drank.
After several drinks – the fourth glass – the whiskey began to take effect. Not drunkenness, but something deeper. Thoughts slowed down, but became clearer. More painful.
Why am I still here? My parents are dead. No friends. Studies – the past. Jobs – temporary, meaningless. Every morning I wake up and think: why not today? Why not now?
He wasn't afraid of death. He even wanted it. But something inside – weak, but persistent – whispered: what if… there's something I haven't done? Something that could justify this emptiness.
It wasn't hope. It was… duty. The last one. To himself. To his parents. To the world that didn't notice him.
If I leave, at least peacefully. Without guilt. Without thoughts: "What if I had…?"
He took out a small black notebook from his jacket pocket. A pen – silver, a gift from his father. His hands trembled slightly – not from alcohol, but from the decision.
He opened a blank page. Wrote at the top: BEFORE I LEAVE
Then he began to write slowly, the letters – angular but firm:
1. Do nothing for a few days, just watch my favorite movies and eat unhealthy food. So I could feel like a child at least once. Without responsibilities. Without pain.
2. Eat at a very good restaurant. My parents always promised. "When you finish your studies, son, we'll go to Le Ciel." Now I'll go alone. For them.
3. Help a stranger when misfortune happens. So at least one person would think: "He was a good guy." So not everyone would forget.
4. Visit a beautiful place. So I could see what I missed. So I could say: "I saw beauty. And still chose to leave."
5. Leave some kind of impression on someone, no matter who, so at least someone would remember me after my death. So I wouldn't be just a statistic. So at least one person would say: "I knew a guy… Tomas… He was… something."
He stopped. The pen froze in the air.
This wasn't a goodbye. This was… a contract. With himself.
– I'll do it. And then – peacefully. Without guilt. Without "what if."
Suddenly the door opened. A girl came in.
Long dark brown hair – wavy, reaching her waist. Slim. Black leather jacket, jeans, white sneakers. Face – in profile: high cheekbones, full lips. All the men stared.
She approached the bar:
– The usual for me, Tomas, – she said to the bartender with a smile.
– Laura! Of course. Gin and tonic? With lemon? – the bartender smiled widely.
– Yes. And some coffee too, if you can. The night is long.
A regular. A bit younger? 19? Around the same age. But I won't pay attention.
He continued drinking whiskey. The taste – oak, smoke, bitterness.
From the corner of his eye he saw: the bartender brought her drink, whispered something:
– The guy in the corner – a newcomer. Looks sad, but… dangerous.
She turned. Her gaze – brief, but direct. She nodded – as if greeting him.
Tomas looked down at his glass.
After a few more drinks she stood up. Walked past. Stopped by his table.
– Hi, – she said softly. – You look… like you've lost the world.
– And you – like you've found it, – Tomas replied coldly, without looking at her.
She laughed – lightly, like a bell.
– Maybe. But sometimes the world finds you. – She smiled warmly. Her eyes – brown, with golden sparks. – Bye.
She left. Her face and smile were truly warm. But who cares?
An hour passed. In the bar – only the bartender and Tomas. The music turned off. Only the hum of the refrigerator.
– That's it, time to get up and head home, buddy, – the bartender said.
Tomas stood up, swaying. The world spun slightly. He lowered his head:
– Thanks for letting me sit and drink alone.
He handed over the money – 50 euros for a 30-euro bill.
The bartender was surprised. Looked into Tomas's eyes – still sad, empty.
– Hey… Whenever you have a rough day – come. Relax. The table will be free for you. And… maybe someday you'll tell me what's going on?
– Thanks, – Tomas said. – Maybe.
He left.