Poolside Electricity

The pool was empty at 11 PM, just black water reflecting the storm-churned sky. Elena sat on the edge, legs submerged in the chlorinated darkness. Swimming had been their thing—every Thursday for two years, until Marcus stopped showing up three weeks ago.

Now she came alone.

"You're going to freeze," said a voice behind her. David, the night attendant, holding out a towel. They'd become something approximating friends in the quiet hours when the club closed down. The kind of friend born of circumstantial intimacy.

"I like the cold." She accepted the towel without meeting his eyes. "Makes me feel something."

"That's what people say when they've gone numb."

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the pool for a split second—like a photograph of an instant that would never exist again. Elena shivered.

"Marcus emailed me today," she said. "He's getting married."

David sat beside her, not touching the water. "To who?"

"Someone who doesn't need vitamin D supplements just to get out of bed in winter. Someone whole."

"You're not broken, Elena. You're just—"

"Don't." She stood up, water dripping down her legs. "Just don't."

He stood too, close enough that she could feel his warmth. For a moment, everything hung suspended—the way things do before lightning strikes, before you ruin something or save something, before the moment becomes either a mistake or a turning point.

"I could teach you the butterfly stroke," he said. "If you wanted."

She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. "Every Thursday?"

"Every Thursday."

Another flash of lightning. The pool shimmered like liquid glass.

"Okay," she said. "Okay."

The storm broke, rain falling on their upturned faces like absolution.