Destination XYZ

In Tokyo

PROMPT:
Riny and Regy married BUT divorced after a couple of years of being unhappy together. Now they're both in Japan after how many years of no contact with each other.

PLEASE NOTE I WROTE THIS 2 YEARS AGO! ONLY PUBLISHING NOW CAUSE I HAD THE TIME TO PROOFREAD🤨

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Long, slender hands with beige-painted nails were holding on to the steam of a glass with white wine, large and almond-shaped dark-brown eyes shadowed by thick lashes regarding how the light bounced off the liquid as she slowly spun the flute around with gentle hands. The inertia of the wine was causing intricate effects of light and shadows on the dark wood of the bar desk and upon her pale, slightly olive-skinned hands. She had been looking at that glass now for a while, with melancholy tainting the beauty of her eyes, but hardly taken a sip of the wine.

Looking at it but not quite seeing since her mind was wandering, plowing through tons of remembrance. What was she searching for, what was she trying to recall? Honestly, she didn't know other than that she sought something to banish the boredom and the forlorn loneliness that was grating at her old soul.

She didn't know what was worse, what she regretted the most, the things she had done, or those she never did. There was just one thing she was certain of – if she got a chance to do it all over again, she would do a lot of things differently.

"Is this seat taken?" The deep bass was mellow, the question kind and honest and without any tries at flirting, unusual at this hour in a bar and when it was so achingly evident that she was a lonely woman.

Just because the gentle sound of it and perhaps a faint trace of an accent she remembered, did she cast the slightest of glances in his direction, noticing a vibrant shadow blocking the ambient resin of the overhead light.

"No, you're welcome to it," Her voice was modulated to be polite but not inviting. That timbre had she practiced for so long now that it was utilized without even thinking.

There was a soft scraping when he pulled out his chair, she glimpsed more than saw him sitting down, perceiving how he made contact with the bartender, ordering a whisky on the rocks. She had to brace herself to not look at the man, look and become disappointed, because he reminded her so much of someone from long ago.

Someone she had 'seen' and 'heard' so many times earlier, before realizing it was just been wishful thinking, that he had been someone else, just reminding her of the one she imagined she saw.

Make-believe, what a cruel game!

Disappointed – and relived just the same, because her sensible self knew that a re-encounter would be tragic. Therefore she had shrouded herself in obscurity, retracted those parts of the woman he might recognize and turned anonymous, one of billions in the endless crowds. She wouldn't let him find her just as she had forced herself to not search for him.

Changing position marginally she finally took a sip of her wine, relishing the buttery crispiness of liquid sunrays. Once chilled, it had now grown lukewarm and didn't taste her as much as earlier, but she needed the diversion to neglect the gentleman to her right, to not begin making up little patterns of daydreams in her mind. Yet they were almost inevitably, those visions, those reminiscences came to her without her wish for it. The moon and how it shined brightly for both of them. Bulging curtains of semi-transparent and colourful silk woven with strands of silver and gold. His large hands across her chest, strong but tender as they cupped her body. His chin on her neck, his warm breath when he whispered wonderfully indecent things in the shell of her ear. The slight moist of his bodily perspiration dampening her skin. Why had she thrown it all away?