Lightning at the Pyramid

The orange sky bled into the horizon as Elena stepped off the padel court, her sweat cooling in the evening breeze. Corporate retreats always felt like performing for an audience she couldn't see, especially with David watching from the sidelines.

"Your backhand's improving," he said, approaching with his Golden Retriever, Buster, who'd somehow become the unofficial mascot of these after-work games. The dog nudged Elena's hand with that uncanny ability canines had—sensing everything you refused to say aloud.

"My divorce lawyer's getting rich, David. That's where the aggression comes from."

His laugh was too careful. "We should grab dinner. There's that new place by the pyramid—"

"The corporate headquarters?"

"Why not? Order takeout, eat on the terrace. Buster likes their patio."

Lightning cracked across the sky, purple-white veins tearing through the clouds. A storm had been threatening all evening. The sudden violence of it felt appropriate.

"You know," Elena said, watching the first heavy drops hit the court's artificial surface, "I almost kissed you three years ago. At the Christmas party."

David's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes—relief or regret, she couldn't tell.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because you'd just gotten engaged. Because I respected the pyramid—the hierarchy, the rules, everyone's proper place."

Buster pressed against her leg as thunder rolled closer. The orange sunset had surrendered to gray.

"I'm not engaged anymore," David said quietly.

"No. You're not."

Another lightning strike illuminated the space between them—brief, electric, impossible to ignore. The rain began falling harder, plastering Elena's hair to her face, washing away the sweat and the pretense and three years of careful distance.

"Cancel takeout," she said. "Come home with me instead."

David's smile was genuine this time. Buster barked at the thunder, approving the decision. Sometimes lightning didn't just strike—it burned down everything standing in its way.