Sunset at the Empty Pool

The pool was still at 6 PM, the water a flat blue that refused to reflect anything. Maya sat on the edge, legs submerged, iPhone clutched in her wet hand like a weapon she hadn't decided whether to use.

Three unread messages from David. Each one more apologetic than the last. Running late. Meeting went long. I'll make it up to you.

She'd heard variations of these excuses for six months. The pattern had become almost comforting in its predictability — like the way the pool water always felt exactly three degrees too cold, or how the orange slices the bartender served with her drink had become a ritual she couldn't explain to anyone.

"You waiting for someone?"

Maya jumped. An older man in a faded swimsuit stood at the pool's edge, holding a towel. His skin was weathered, the kind that came from decades of sun exposure rather than vacations.

"My husband," she said, then immediately corrected herself. "Fiancé. He's supposed to meet me here. We're staying at the resort for the weekend. Supposed to be reconnecting."

The man nodded slowly, like he'd heard this story before. "I've been coming to this resort for twenty years. Seen a lot of people waiting."

He gestured to the empty lounge chairs around them. "They usually end up in one of two places. Either they leave angry, or they order another drink and realize they were already alone."

Maya looked at her iPhone again. David had sent another message: Stuck in traffic. Promise.

The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky orange — that particular shade that only existed in Florida, where the humidity thickened the light until it seemed almost solid. The same orange as the fruit slices in her drink, now warm and swimming in melted ice.

"What did you do?" Maya asked finally. "When you waited."

"I stopped waiting," the man said. "Started ordering two drinks. Found out I preferred my own company anyway."

He walked away without another word, leaving her alone with the reflection of orange light on the water's surface.

Maya picked up her iPhone, typed: I don't think I can do this anymore. Then she deleted the message, stood up, and walked toward the bar.

The pool water rippled behind her, already forgetting she'd been there at all.