The Distance Between Glasses

Jason POV

Watching quietly, wishing silently.

We hadn’t spoken since poker night.

On Valentine’s Day, just before midnight,

she texted me.

“Jason, happy Valentine’s Day.”

I stared at the screen longer than necessary,

then typed back:

“Kiwi, happy Valentine’s Day.”

No emoji.

No follow-up.

I’m not sure what I expected.

⸻

Karaoke night wasn’t my plan.

My colleagues organized it—

a casual gathering, beers, music, and some business partners invited.

I nearly skipped it,

until someone casually mentioned she’d be there.

Suddenly, it felt crucial.

We arrived early.

She was late.

Eventually, someone said she couldn’t find parking.

Without hesitation, I offered to go down.

I found her in the parking lot,

easily sliding an older silver-grey Porsche Cayman

into an awkward, tight spot—

smooth, confident, zero adjustments.

She stepped out, graceful and assured,

looking perfectly suited to the car.

“Hey,” she said lightly.

I didn’t respond.

Just quietly led her upstairs.

⸻

Inside the KTV room, it was crowded,

laughter echoing off the walls,

beer cans stacking up on the table.

No whiskey—just beer, cans being opened one after another.

The room buzzed with casual warmth.

Two newcomers, pushed into the spotlight,

became the night’s entertainment.

“Just kiss already!” someone shouted,

and everyone erupted into laughter.

She sat near from me,

a cup of tea in hand,

smiling comfortably, effortlessly navigating conversations

with people she barely knew.

Never awkward, always composed.

I couldn’t help watching her.

She didn’t drink,

and she didn’t feel the need to explain.

Maybe it was because she drove,

or maybe she simply didn’t need the alcohol to blend in.

A foolish part of me quietly hoped she’d sip just once,

as if sharing a drink might somehow bridge the distance.

Meanwhile, beers kept coming my way,

and I didn’t refuse.

One can followed another,

empty cans accumulating beside me.

By the third beer,

my gaze stopped drifting.

I just watched her.

She was talking quietly with some guy,

someone unfamiliar from another company.

They weren’t close—I could tell.

But still, a restless feeling rose sharply in my chest.

Not quite jealousy,

or perhaps exactly that.

I wasn’t sure what right I had to feel it,

so I took another drink,

pretending I wasn’t watching,

pretending it meant nothing.

As the evening stretched,

the alcohol loosened me further.

My eyes stayed glued to her,

the careful, subtle way she moved,

the easy smiles she offered,

the brief glances that somehow never reached me.

The noise around us felt distant,

the laughter and music blurred,

leaving only her quiet presence clear in my mind.

I wanted to approach her,

to say something casual,

anything to cross the invisible gap.

But I remained seated,

letting the night pass,

drinking more, pretending to be carefree,

yet acutely aware of every move she made,

and every moment I was missing.