Second story I wrote, ever. Not much to look at, I know, and since I don't have a beta there might be some mistakes in it. But yeah, well, enjoy. Reactions are very much appreciated.
disclaimer: obviously not mine
They met each other in the pub across the road from her work. Usually not one to go pub-hopping after work, she'd been dragged along by some of her colleagues. She'd liked him from the first second: those laughing eyes, the shaggy hair that was just a bit too long, the contagious smile, the man on the other side of the bar was simply irresistible.
The pub was a favourite after-work hangout spot for most of her colleagues, and she found herself tagging along more often after that first time. They hadn't really spoken that first night, and the times that followed were the same, both glancing at each other and smiling, but without a word being spoken between them. Until one night, after a particularly hard day at work, she gathered her courage and went to the pub on her own.
Less than twenty seconds after she'd sat down on the barstool a beer was place in front of her, and their first conversation had started. After her telling him how her boss was sending her to Russia for a undercover job that would probably take two or three years to complete, he bought her a congratulatory drink. They talked for hours that night, getting to know bits and pieces about each other's lives. His thick Irish accent made the communication a bit tricky at times, but they managed. When not long before closing time she left the pub, she left him a coaster with her phone number on the back.
After that time, they talked when she went to the pub, and every now and then one of them would send the other a text, but nothig even slightly crossed the line between friendship and more. Until one evening he asked her to wait until he got off work, and then go with him to another bar for a drink. She waited, and then left with him, leaving his colleagues sniggering.
They didn't make it to the bar in the end. Instead they ended up making out in an alley somewhere on the way there, and when he brought her home they parted with a kiss and the promise to call.
A week after, it repeated itself, but without the alley, and without him bringing her home. Instead, he took her to his house. Holding her hand, he showed her the impossibly tiny apartment he'd found for himself. Sitting on the couch, he told her about his home and family in Ireland. He told her he wanted to go back there and start his own pub eventually. He asked her to go with him.
That week, they went or their first date. Walking hand in hand through the back alleys of London, she'd felt happier than she could remember feeling ever. Yet she couldn't help but realize the date of her departure for Russia was drawing nearer quickly. With only a week in England left, she felt determined to make the most out of it.
The next couple of days work and preparations for leaving kept her too busy, but then she found the time to text him, asking him whether they could meet a last time before she left. The answer, five minutes later, had left her devastated.
"Aren't you leaving in three days? I think we'd better just be friends".
That was all. It was like everything he had said before, everything that had convinced her that he really did like her, had been forgotten, or worse, a lie.
And now she found herself wondering how it got this way. Was it because she was leaving, because he thought they couldn't, wouldn't have a chance at a real relationship? Or was she just not beautiful enough, not witty enough, not Irish enough for him? Was he sorry for the time they spent together?
She found herself thinking how it shouldn't even hurt this fucking much, it wasn't even like he'd been her boyfriend, they'd only been on a single date. Still it felt like her heart had been ripped out.
She found herself missing him already, knowing the years she would spent in Russia would be much lonelier than she could have imagined before meeting him.