Naivety World

Here I am again, alone in the backseat of a rental car. The chauffeur doesn’t spare me a glance. It’s just as well; I’ve had enough of meaningless exchanges today.

He pulls up to my building with quiet efficiency, stepping out to open my door. “Will that be all, ma’am?” he asks, his voice polite.

I want to say no. I want to tell him to come upstairs and fill me with the kind of reckless comfort I shouldn’t be craving. The week has been long and brutal, and I know exactly the kind of release I need. But instead, I smile faintly and murmur, “That’ll be all.”

As he nods and returns to the car, I step into the brightly lit reception, heels clicking against the marble floor. The silence is oppressive as I ascend to the 10th floor, straight to my apartment.

I lock the door behind me, and my bag slides off my shoulder, forgotten. I kick off my shoes, peel away the blazer, the blouse, the skirt, each piece discarded on the floor in a trail leading to the kitchen. By the time I’m there, I’m in nothing but a slip. The cool air kisses my skin as I reach for a bottle of my favorite wine, pour a generous glass, and take two deep, satisfying gulps.

Finally, I breathe.

Glass in hand, I make my way to the living room and sink onto the plush carpet in front of the bay windows. The city sprawls before me.

It’s hard being single, especially on nights like these, when the silence feels heavier than it should, and the space around me feels too vast for just one person.

I close my eyes, the glass of wine cool in my hand, and wonder how much longer I can keep convincing myself I’m okay with this.