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MidReal Story
Silent Obsession
Scenario:Love, bah! Not for me!
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Delilah Palmer
She is a bartender at a local bar, dealing with a string of unappealing suitors. She is sarcastic, independent, and skeptical. After being hit on by a man who uses terrible pickup lines, she contemplates her dislike for such overtures. Despite her independence and skepticism about love, she finds herself intrigued by a mysterious and silent man watching her from across the bar.
Mysterious Stranger
He is a man with a strong build and an enigmatic presence, observing Delilah from the bar. He is confident, quiet, and introspective. His presence causes a stir among the women at the bar, but he shows no interest in them. His attention is focused on Delilah, sparking an internal conflict within her about her views on love and relationships. His mysterious demeanor adds to the intrigue surrounding him.
"What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"
The guy at the bar gives me his best smile, no doubt hoping to charm the pants right off me.
Ugh.
"Probably the same reason you’re here," I mutter, shaking my head as I grab his beer from the fridge and slide it down the bar to him.
He chuckles and takes a pull from the bottle.
"Fair enough. I guess I deserved that. How about we start over?"
I raise an eyebrow and wipe down the bar with a dirty rag.
"That depends."
"On what?"
He leans in, elbows resting on the bar, clearly hoping I’ll spill all my secrets or something.
Not gonna happen, buddy.
If I wanted to get hit on, I’d go to a club or something.
"You learn any new pickup lines recently?"
His smile falters for a moment before he laughs.
"Hey, that one was classic."
"Yeah. Classicly bad. If you don’t have anything original to say, maybe just skip it altogether, huh?"
I turn away from him and start wiping down tables.
The man huffs and takes another pull from his beer, clearly annoyed.
I don’t really care.
I hate pickup lines—hate being hit on in general.
There’s nothing sexy or appealing about some guy trying to woo me with a line that sounds like it was ripped straight from a bad romance novel.
I return to my spot behind the bar, keeping my expression neutral.
The guy looks at me for a long moment, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to figure out what to do next.
I hope he just gives up and leaves.
Instead, he straightens his posture and adjusts his collar.
Great.
Here we go again.
I glance over at the mystery man from earlier, and he’s still sitting in the corner, nursing his drink.
He’s still watching me, too, though he quickly looks away when I catch him staring.
Weirdo.
I turn back to the would-be Romeo, who clears his throat to get my attention again.
"Look," I say, crossing my arms over my chest and planting my feet shoulder-width apart on the floor.
"Whatever line you’ve got rehearsed, I don’t want to hear it. Just save us both some time and leave."
A small crowd of regulars nearby quiets down, no doubt sensing that a verbal sparring match is about to ensue.
He hesitates, then nods, leaving his unfinished beer as he walks out the door.
After he’s gone, I return to wiping down the bar top.
The sticky surface is finally starting to come clean, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
The late evening crowd has thinned out, leaving only a handful of regulars nursing their drinks at the bar.
My shoulders relax as I settle into the familiar rhythm of cleaning glasses and restocking bottles.
The mystery man is still sitting in the corner, but his presence doesn’t feel as intrusive as it did earlier.
I can still sense him watching me, but it’s no longer making my skin crawl.
When I glance over at him again, he’s writing something in a small notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration.
I turn my attention back to the bar, but my gaze keeps drifting to the empty barstool where the pickup artist sat.
It feels like a gaping hole in the room, a reminder of how uncomfortable things had gotten before he left.