The Space Between Us

How did I fucking get here? This is what I’ve been repeatedly asking myself for the last 10 minutes in my wine-clogged brain as I try not to stare at an unseemly piece of spinach lodged between Derek’s teeth. Or did he say his name was Eric? God, does it even matter? He’s cute, in a rugged frat-boy type of way—pale blue eyes that come off as flat and uninviting, sandy blonde hair that could use a little less gel. I like to run my fingers through a man’s locks, thank you very much. He’s got what looks like a swimmer’s lean and toned body under that boring blazer and khakis. He might be nice enough underneath it all, but I’ve lost the energy to pay attention to whatever he’s talking about—his “very big” and “very important” promotion to something or other. If I have to listen to another man drone on and on about himself and his accomplishments, I might just run away screaming.

I have always hated Valentine’s Day. A day dedicated to love and romance—ugh. Why not hit me with a crowbar and remind me just how small and insignificant my love life is? All these couples walk around in their love bubbles, consumed with one another. It makes me sick. Okay… it makes me jealous. Writhing with absolute envy. Makes me want to weep my eyes out while I watch The Notebook and down my last pint of Ben and Jerry’s—the only two men in my life who have never let me down. They’d be interested in my stories.

I’m going to kill Jennifer for convincing me to come here. I may be alone, but speed dating? Might as well stamp “Future Cat Spinster” on my forehead.

It’s not like I didn’t know this would be a disaster. I mean, speed dating? What the hell was I thinking? I could already hear Jennifer’s voice echoing in my head, “It’ll be fun! You’ll meet new people! Maybe find a nice guy to take home!” Her enthusiasm was about as contagious as the flu. Still, I caved. Why? The same reason I caved last year when she dragged me to some salsa dancing class, where I ended up stepping on a guy’s foot so hard he needed ice packs. I always caved. Maybe it was that tiny glimmer of hope, that small voice in my brain whispering, “What if this time is different?”

Spoiler alert: it never is.

And yet, here I am, sitting across from some dude—let’s just call him Derek or Eric because I really don’t care—trying to drown out his droning voice while I sip cheap red wine that tastes like it came out of a box. Why did I even let Jennifer drag me to this place? The dim lighting, the faint smell of desperation in the air, the clinking of glasses as men and women awkwardly exchanged half-hearted compliments about each other’s shoes. It’s a nightmare. A very poorly lit, awkward nightmare.

“…and then I just knew, I was made for management, you know? Some guys, they just coast, but me? I’m always looking for the next big move. It’s all about ambition. You’ve got to have that drive if you want to make it.”

I blink, nodding robotically. Maybe if I smile long enough, he’ll get the hint and stop talking. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t. My mind starts drifting, imagining all the things I could be doing right now instead of being stuck in this hellhole of forced interaction. I could be curled up on my couch, binge-watching some dumb reality TV show, or reading a book, or, hell, even doomscrolling social media would be better than this.

“Yeah, that sounds…really great,” I finally manage to say, my voice devoid of any enthusiasm. “Ambition is important.”

He doesn’t notice the sarcasm. He never notices. None of them ever do.

The bell rings, signaling the end of this godforsaken five-minute conversation. Oh, thank God. I’m saved by the bell. Literally. Derek—or Eric—flashes me a grin, that stupid piece of spinach still hanging on for dear life between his teeth, and gets up to move to the next table. I give him a weak smile and a half-hearted wave.

And now it’s time for the next one.

I glance around the room. It’s the same scene on every side. Men and women, all here for the same reason, all hoping for some kind of connection. It’s almost sad, really. We’re all here pretending like we’re searching for “The One,” but I can’t help but wonder if any of us even believe in that anymore.

As I wait for the next guy to sit down, I sip more of my wine, hoping the alcohol will dull my senses enough to survive the rest of this nightmare. The next guy approaches—tall, clean-shaven, probably early 30s, with a confident stride. Great. Another one. He sits down, flashes a smile that’s a little too perfect, and I brace myself for another round of mindless small talk.

“Hi,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m Paul.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply, shaking his hand. “I’m Sarah.”

Paul. Okay, at least I can remember that. He doesn’t look like he has spinach in his teeth, so that’s a plus.

“So, Sarah,” he begins, leaning forward slightly, “what do you do for work?”

I sigh inwardly. Of course. The same old question. Always the same. I take another sip of wine before answering.

“I work in marketing,” I say, keeping it short.

“Marketing, huh? That’s interesting,” he replies, nodding like he cares. “I’m in finance myself. Been working at a hedge fund for about seven years now. It’s challenging but rewarding, you know?”

I don’t know, but I nod anyway, because what else am I supposed to do?

He starts going on about the stock market and portfolios, and I zone out again. This is going to be a long night.

The night drags on, table after table, man after man, each one blending into the next. By the time the last guy sits down, I’m barely holding it together. I’ve had enough wine to feel a buzz, but not enough to forget how much I hate this whole experience.

The final bell rings, and I practically leap out of my seat. I grab my purse and head for the door, not even bothering to say goodbye to anyone. I just need to get out of here. Fresh air. Silence. Anything but the stifling atmosphere of that room.

Outside, the night is cool, and the air feels crisp against my skin. I take a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. Finally, some relief.

My phone buzzes in my purse, and I pull it out to see a message from Jennifer. How’s it going? Met anyone yet?

I roll my eyes and type back, I’m leaving. This was a mistake.

A few seconds later, she replies, Aw, come on! Don’t be so negative! You never know!

I shove my phone back into my purse without responding. She means well, but she just doesn’t get it. I don’t need to meet someone tonight. I don’t need to force some artificial connection with a stranger. What I need is to be okay with where I am—alone.

I start walking down the street, heading in the direction of my apartment. The city is alive around me, with couples walking hand-in-hand, restaurants packed with Valentine’s Day dinners, laughter, and conversation filling the air. And there I am, walking alone, and for the first time tonight, I don’t feel that pang of envy. I don’t feel the bitterness creeping in. Instead, I feel…relief.

Maybe I don’t need to find love right now. Maybe I just need to find peace with myself.

I turn a corner and see a small, quiet bar at the end of the street. It looks cozy, and not too crowded. Perfect. I head inside, grateful for the dim lighting and the soft murmur of conversation. The bartender gives me a nod as I sit down at the bar.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

“Whiskey,” I say. “Neat.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question it. A few moments later, he slides the glass across the bar, and I take a sip, savoring the warmth as it spreads through me.

For the first time tonight, I feel like I can breathe.

I don’t know how long I sit there, nursing my whiskey, but eventually, I hear someone slide onto the stool next to me.

“Rough night?” a voice asks.

I glance over to see a guy, maybe a few years older than me, with messy brown hair and a slight stubble. He’s dressed casually—jeans and a leather jacket—and there’s something relaxed about him that puts me at ease.

“You could say that,” I reply, giving him a small smile.

“Let me guess,” he says, taking a sip of his own drink, “Valentine’s Day speed dating disaster?”

I blink, surprised. “How did you know?”

He chuckles. “I was there too. Saw you across the room.”

I laugh despite myself. “Small world.”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “But, hey, looks like we survived.”

“Barely.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment before he turns to me again. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

“Sarah.”

“Well, Sarah,” he says, raising his glass, “here’s to surviving shitty Valentine’s Day speed dating.”

I clink my glass against his, feeling the warmth of the whiskey begin to loosen the tension in my shoulders. “Here’s to that,” I say with a small smile.

Jake takes a sip and leans back, his eyes scanning the room. “So, tell me… What’s a woman like you doing in a place like that?” His tone is playful, but there’s an underlying curiosity.

I sigh, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “I have this friend, Jennifer. She’s been on my case about how I need to put myself out there more. Apparently, being single on Valentine’s Day is a mortal sin.” I roll my eyes. “So, she convinced me to go to that god-awful speed dating thing. I wasn’t in the mood, but I caved. Again.”

Jake smirks. “I get that. My sister did the same thing to me. She thinks I’ve been single for too long and that if I don’t find someone soon, I’m going to die alone.”

I chuckle. “A classic sibling move.”

He grins. “Exactly. But seriously, why is everyone so obsessed with this idea that being alone is the worst thing in the world? Maybe I like being on my own.”

I nod in agreement, feeling a sudden kinship with this stranger. “Right? I mean, I get that people want to find someone, but why does it have to be so forced? Why can’t we just… exist without all this pressure?”

Jake tilts his head, considering my words. “That’s what I’ve been wondering too. I went through the whole dating app thing, blind dates, setups. It’s all the same. Everyone’s rushing to tick off boxes like they’re following some relationship checklist.”

“That’s exactly it!” I say, feeling more animated than I have all night. “It’s like everyone’s on a deadline. Find someone, settle down, have kids, retire, die. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.”

He chuckles. “You sound like me. Maybe we’re just two hopeless cynics in a sea of hopeless romantics.”

“Maybe,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips. “But I’m not a cynic, really. I just… I don’t know. I’ve seen too many people settle for the wrong person just because they don’t want to be alone. I don’t want that to be me.”

Jake nods, his expression softening. “I get it. I don’t want to settle either. I’d rather be alone than be with someone who isn’t right for me.”

His words hang in the air between us, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m talking to someone who actually gets it. Not just nodding along, waiting for their turn to speak, but really listening.

“Why were you there tonight, then?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. “If you’re not into the whole dating scene?”

He laughs, leaning his elbows on the bar. “Like I said, my sister. She’s relentless. She thinks I’m some tragic bachelor, doomed to live out the rest of my days in front of a TV with a beer in hand.” He pauses, a playful glint in his eye. “Which, honestly, doesn’t sound that bad.”

I laugh, imagining it. “Could be worse.”

We both fall into an easy silence after that, sipping our drinks and letting the conversation ebb and flow naturally. It’s a stark contrast to the forced, stilted exchanges I had all night at the speed dating event. I don’t feel the need to impress Jake or filter my words, and it’s refreshing.

After a while, Jake glances at the time on his phone. “You want to get out of here?” he asks, surprising me.

I raise an eyebrow, unsure. “Where would we go?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a casual shrug. “We could take a walk, get some fresh air. The city’s always kind of nice at night, don’t you think?”

I hesitate for a moment, but something about his laid-back demeanor makes me feel comfortable. It’s not like I have anything better to do, and truthfully, I’d rather keep talking to him than go home to my empty apartment. I set down my glass. “Okay, let’s go.”

Jake pays for our drinks, and we step out into the cool night. The air is crisp, and the streets are quieter now, with most people tucked away in restaurants or headed home. We walk in easy silence for a while, the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement, casting a soft glow around us.

“So, what’s your deal?” Jake asks after a few minutes. “Like, why do you think you’re still single?”

I laugh, surprised by the directness of the question. “Wow, no small talk, huh?”

He shrugs. “I figured we’re past the small talk stage.”

I think for a moment before answering. “Honestly? I think it’s because I’m not willing to settle. I’ve been in relationships before—long ones, short ones—but none of them ever felt… right. It’s like I was always trying to convince myself that it would work, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t.”

Jake nods thoughtfully. “I know what you mean. It’s like you’re waiting for something to click, but it never does.”

“Exactly,” I say. “And now I feel like people expect me to just… pick someone already. But I don’t want to do that. I’d rather be on my own than with someone who isn’t right.”

He glances at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Sounds like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Most people wouldn’t admit that.”

“I don’t know if it’s having a good head on my shoulders or just being stubborn,” I say with a grin. “Maybe both.”

We keep walking, our pace slowing as we move through quieter streets. Eventually, we end up at a small park. There’s a bench near the edge of the path, and Jake gestures toward it. “Want to sit for a bit?”

“Sure.”

We sit down, and the silence between us feels comfortable, not awkward. I lean back against the bench, looking up at the stars barely visible through the city lights. It feels like the night is stretching out endlessly before us, like we’re in a little bubble of peace away from the chaos of Valentine’s Day.

“Do you ever think,” Jake says suddenly, his voice soft, “that maybe we’re not supposed to find someone? Like, maybe some people are just meant to be on their own, and that’s okay?”

I look over at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. It’s a question I’ve asked myself before, late at night when I’m lying in bed, wondering why things haven’t worked out the way I thought they would. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think about that a lot.”

He nods, staring out at the park. “Sometimes I think we spend so much time chasing after this idea of what love is supposed to be that we forget it’s okay to just be with ourselves. That it’s okay to not have all the answers.”

I don’t respond right away, letting his words sink in. It’s true. We’re always bombarded with these images of perfect relationships and fairy tale endings, but no one ever talks about how hard it is to find that, or if it even exists. Maybe Jake’s right. Maybe some of us aren’t meant to follow the same path everyone else does.

But as I sit there next to him, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over me, I realize that even if we don’t find that perfect fairy tale, moments like this—quiet, honest, and real—are worth something too.

“Do you think we’re both just cynical?” I ask, half-joking, half-serious.

Jake smiles, shaking his head. “I don’t think we’re cynical. I think we’re just realistic. We know what we want, and we’re not going to settle for less.”

I nod slowly, a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the whiskey. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

We sit in silence for a little longer, the city’s distant hum a soft backdrop to our thoughts. For the first time in a long while, I don’t feel the gnawing pressure to find someone, to be in a relationship. Sitting here, in this quiet corner of the world, it feels okay to just be.

Finally, Jake turns to me, his expression serious but not heavy. “So, Sarah… How about we just see where this goes? No pressure, no expectations. Just two people, figuring things out.”

I look at him, really look at him, and for the first time all night, I feel a flicker of something—something real. Not forced, not rushed. Just… there.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “I think I’d like that.”

And for the first time on Valentine’s Day, I don’t feel like running away.