The Perfect Enemy
He sweeps his fingers across his damp brow, his gaze drifting to the ceiling, void of thought or emotion.
A few steps away, the young lady—a striking figure of youthful beauty—moves with practiced indifference. She rises from the bed and gathers her clothing scattered on the floor, her skin reflecting the harsh glow of the light. The bathroom awaits, a refuge for solitary reflection. Just beyond, his voice lingers, an echo of their encounter.
“Thank you for your time.”
She pauses momentarily, glancing back. His expression is unreadable, devoid of emotion or reassurance. It's an ending she recognizes all too well. She stands long enough to etch the scene into her mind: a man retreating into t
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