One Second Reunited

One Second Reunited

Chapter One: President

A year had gone by since Eve broke up with Pouya. Rumors had done it — rumors of him and some girl, manufactured by the very same people Eve called friends, all of them except Lily. Those friends had convinced her that Pouya had cheated, and between that lie and everything it dragged behind it, she had ended things. Pouya never understood why. Not knowing why she’d left him had settled into something heavier than grief; he grew depressed, grumpy, perpetually tired, a man wearing his own skin like a borrowed coat. So when a friend named Ray, on his way to a group hangout at a bar, invited him along, Pouya went, reluctant but hoping for some change of pace.

Ray drove. Pouya sat in the passenger seat watching the city slide by, and when they pulled up outside the bar he got out and followed Ray in. Ray walked him over to the group and made introductions. Everyone seemed friendly enough. Then, at the corner of his eye, Pouya saw her — Eve, standing next to Lily. He turned to be sure, and it was her. Their eyes met for one unbearable second before both looked away, neither wanting to be the one who ruined the night, and so they said nothing.

Then a man approached Eve, and they kissed.

Pouya understood, in that instant, that Eve had moved on — into the arms of someone built like a football player, aggressive and protective and, underneath all of it, manipulative. His name was Brad.

The group drifted toward a table that Luke, the one who’d organized the night, had reserved for card games. Everyone found seats. Pouya ended up beside Ray, directly across from Brad, with Eve seated next to him. Luke shuffled the deck and dealt it evenly around the table — they were playing President, where the object was to shed your hand as fast as possible by beating whatever was played before you. Luke went first, and the play moved clockwise from there. All through the game, Pouya’s attention kept drifting from his cards to Eve, and — though neither of them would have admitted it — her gaze kept drifting from Brad to him.

His throat was tight when he finally said it. He hadn’t planned any words. It was just the sound of his own voice, reaching for somewhere she could hear it.

“Hi.”

The greeting hung in the air like a held breath. A few heads turned. Most stayed on their cards. Brad’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly.

He draped one thick arm across the back of Eve’s chair, his fingers brushing her shoulder, and fixed Pouya with a flat, appraising stare. “Who’s this?”

Ray leaned in with a grin and nudged Pouya’s elbow. “That’s my boy Pouya. He’s cool, been through some shit lately so I dragged him out. Thought some card games and drinks would do him good.”

Luke, a lanky guy with an easy smile and messy brown hair, dealt the first hand without looking up. “Alright alright, everybody ante up. President, baby. First to zero cards wins. Brad, you’re up first since you’re sitting on the dealer’s left.”

Brad peeled two cards off the top of his hand and slapped them face-down on the table with a cocky smirk. “Three of a kind. Kings over sevens.”

Lily, two seats down from Eve, flicked her blue eyes between Pouya and Eve with barely concealed curiosity, then leaned toward her friend, voice low but not quite low enough. “You okay?”

Eve didn’t answer right away. Her golden-yellow eyes stayed on her cards, though her gaze kept drifting a fraction too far to the left. She set her hand down with quiet precision. “Two pair. Eights and fives.”

Brad’s hand found her thigh under the table. “That’s cute, babe. I’ll take it.” The game went on. His grip didn’t move.

Pouya dragged his eyes off Eve’s hands and down to his own cards, and the excuse came out flatter than he meant it to. “I don’t know how to play this game.”

Ray laughed and slapped the table, rattling the cards. “Bro, it’s literally the easiest game in existence. You just gotta have the highest cards. Like, if I got three kings I throw them in; if I got two kings I keep them. Simple as hell.”

Luke pointed at Ray with the deck. “What he said. President is all about bluffing and having the biggest nuts.”

A couple of people snickered. Brad didn’t. His dark eyes stayed on Pouya with the look a dog gives something it hasn’t decided whether to bite yet.

He squeezed Eve’s thigh a little tighter, not looking at her. “You don’t know how to play President? What kind of grown man doesn’t know a card game?”

It wasn’t a real question. The way he said it carried weight — a subtle dig wrapped in casual cruelty. A few people shifted uncomfortably. Lily’s eyes narrowed.

She tilted her head, pink hair spilling over one shoulder, and smiled sweetly at Brad. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy fondling your girlfriend under the table you could teach him, Brad.”

The table went quiet for a beat. Brad’s expression darkened, his grip on Eve’s thigh freezing. He let out a short laugh through his nose and turned to her. “The fuck you let your friend talk to me like that?”

Eve’s expression didn’t change. She picked up her next hand, laid her cards face-down, and said, soft and almost bored, “She can talk however she wants.”

Brad’s jaw worked. He looked between Eve and Lily, then back at Pouya, as if daring anyone to say something else.

“Speeches are getting dark,” Pouya said, keeping his voice light, though his knuckles had gone white around his cards.

The tension at the table simmered like grease in a hot pan. Brad leaned back with forced casualness, his eyes sharp. “Nah, I’m just saying. When your girl’s talking shit for you, that means you can’t handle your own business.”

Ray threw up both hands, laughing nervously. “Aye aye, chill bro. It’s card games, not a war zone. Luke, deal the next hand.”

Luke shuffled fast, sensing the shift, dealing with practiced speed. “Yeah yeah, everybody ante up. Brad, your turn to play.”

Brad ignored him entirely. He tilted his head at Pouya, that smirk returning, uglier now. “You know Eve?”

The question landed like a grenade with the pin pulled. Lily went still. Eve’s hand froze halfway to her cards. Around the table, conversations died mid-sentence, and everyone suddenly found their drinks very interesting. Lily’s fingers wrapped tight around her glass. Eve hadn’t moved; her cards sat untouched since Brad leaned in, her golden eyes fixed on some point past Pouya’s shoulder, though the slight tension in her jaw said she’d heard every word.

Brad leaned closer, close enough that Pouya could smell his cologne — aggressive, woodsy, too much. “’Cause it’d be crazy if y’all knew each other. She never mentioned you before.”

Pouya said it plainly, no bitterness in it, though something in his chest had gone very still. “Maybe I was not important and bold in her eyes.”

The words settled over the table like a thin sheet of ice. A few people winced. Luke kept shuffling, pretending to be busy. Ray sucked his teeth and shook his head — the universal gesture for *bro, why would you say that*.

Brad’s eyebrows shot up. Then he laughed — a real, loud, barking laugh that turned heads from nearby tables. He slapped the table and grinned at Eve. “Oh shit. That’s funny. You hear this dude? He thinks he was important to you?”

A guy named Marcus covered his mouth to hide a smirk. Two girls at the far end exchanged knowing looks. Lily’s blue eyes locked onto Pouya, her smile sharper now, and she took a slow sip of her drink. “That’s an interesting thing to say about yourself, Pouya.”

Eve still hadn’t moved. Her cards sat face-down, untouched. Her silver earrings caught the bar light as she tilted her head, just barely.

Brad’s amusement faded into something harder. He straightened up and pulled her slightly toward him. “She’s with me now. So whatever you thought you had with her, that ship sailed. You feel me?”

“Bro, just play the cards man…” Ray muttered.

Brad ignored him completely, eyes boring into Pouya. “Nah, I wanna hear it. You think she’s still thinking about you?”

The honesty came out of Pouya before he could dress it up, quiet and unguarded, like a man who’d stopped trying to sound strong. “I don’t know why she left me to begin with. And I am just thinking about it, and think about other things are not the top priority.”

It landed strangely — not the answer Brad expected, and it showed. His brow furrowed, as if he’d been handed a gift he couldn’t figure out how to unwrap.

He scoffed, leaning back, gesturing broadly for backup from the table. “The fuck does that mean? You don’t even know why she left you? Bro, this dude doesn’t even know why his own girl left him. That’s pathetic.”

A few people murmured in agreement. Marcus shook his head. Brad was feeding off the table’s energy, building himself up, and everyone knew it.

Lily traced the rim of her glass with one finger, her voice light, almost playful, her eyes doing something else entirely. “Funny thing about misunderstandings, Brad. They happen to everyone. Even people who look like they know everything.”

Brad’s eye twitched. Eve shifted in her seat, and for the first time since it started, she spoke, her voice barely above the ambient noise of the bar, not looking at Pouya. “Can we just play the game?”

Brad’s hand slid from her thigh to her waist, possessive, anchoring her. He leaned in again, close, his breath warm and sour with whiskey, his voice dropped low but pitched to carry. “Nah, I wanna hear this. You said you don’t know why she left. So what, you think you’re innocent? You think she just up and left for no reason? Maybe she got tired of whatever you were giving her. You look like you can barely handle yourself, bro.”

Ray grabbed Pouya’s shoulder, a warning squeeze.

Pouya’s voice dropped, raw and unpolished, the kind of admission that costs something to say out loud. “Yeah, after her leave I can’t even handle myself.”

The admission hung in the air. A few people at the table softened. Marcus stopped smirking. Even Luke paused his shuffling.

Brad blinked. He’d clearly had a whole second round of insults loaded, but the answer wasn’t giving him ammunition — it was giving him something worse: pity. He recovered fast, jaw setting. “So what, you’re telling me you’re depressed over some girl? That’s sad, bro.”

Lily’s expression shifted, the playful edge melting into something more complicated as she studied Pouya’s face, the way you look at someone when you’re trying to tell if they’re performing or genuinely broken. “How long have you been like this?”

Eve’s fingers curled around the edge of her cards, bending one. Her breathing stayed steady but shallow. She kept her gaze fixed on the table, as if the wood grain held answers.

Brad noticed her silence and misread it as agreement, his nostrils flaring. “Babe, you see this? This is what you used to deal with?”

Something flickered across Eve’s face. Her jaw tightened. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

The table went dead silent. Brad’s hand froze on her waist. Lily’s eyes went wide. Ray slowly withdrew his hand from Pouya’s shoulder. Everyone waited to see what the football player would do now that his girlfriend had told him to stop.

His voice went dangerously quiet. “What did you just say to me?”

Something in Pouya’s posture changed — the softness draining out of it — and when he spoke his voice had gone quiet in a way that was somehow louder than shouting. “Yeah, I have become upset after her leave. You know it’s one of human nature’s that can’t resist loneliness. And it will be your last time to speak like that to her in front of me.”

The bar’s ambient noise seemed to recede, as if the room itself had leaned in to watch. Brad’s face cycled through confusion, disbelief, and then a dark red crept up his neck like a rash. He stood, slow, his chair scraping the floor loud enough to make people wince. He was tall, six-two easily, shoulders wide enough to block the light behind him. He placed both palms flat on the table and leaned toward Pouya, his voice carrying now, heads at nearby tables turning like sunflowers tracking something ugly. “Excuse me? You’re gonna tell me how to talk to my girl?”

Lily’s hand found Eve’s arm under the table, gripping gently, her playful demeanor gone. She whispered, “Eve, don’t react. Just let it play out.”

Eve’s eyes finally moved. She looked at Pouya directly for the first time since he’d sat down. Her golden gaze was unreadable, her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something and couldn’t decide what.

Ray stood too, a hand on Brad’s chest. “Aye, aye, sit down bro. It’s card games. We’re not doing this.”

Brad swatted the hand away without looking at him, eyes locked on Pouya, cracking his neck. “Nah. Nah nah nah. This little bitch just told me what to do. In front of everybody. You got some nerve, bro. You know who I am?”

Marcus was already pulling out his phone. The two girls at the end of the table were whispering. The energy had gone from tense to volatile in the space of a breath.

Pouya didn’t raise his voice, each word landing heavier than the last, and for the first time that night Brad looked like he didn’t know what to do with him. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t know why she left me, but I can’t handle it anymore. I want to reclaim her at any cost, even if it means to wait for several lifetimes or dying multiple times.”

The words hit the table like a bomb detonating in slow motion. Every person froze. Marcus lowered his phone. Luke’s mouth hung open mid-shuffle. The two girls stopped whispering. Lily’s grip on Eve’s arm tightened; her blue eyes darted to Eve, searching, worried.

Brad’s expression cycled through confusion, then rage, then something uglier. He understood exactly what Pouya meant, and his possessive nature turned the words into a personal declaration of war. His fist clenched on the table. He laughed, hollow and mean. “Reclaim her? You want to reclaim MY girl? You hear this shit, Eve? This clown wants you back.”

Eve’s cards sat untouched. Her golden eyes were locked on Pouya now, and for the first time all night her mask cracked. Something raw and complicated moved behind her expression. Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow. She said nothing.

Brad read her silence wrong. He grabbed her chin, turning her face toward him. “Tell him. Tell this loser you’re mine now.”

She pulled her chin free with quiet firmness, her voice steady but thin. “Don’t touch me like that.”

Brad’s face twisted. The humiliation of being corrected in front of the table, in front of Pouya, was visibly eating him alive. His chest heaved. He looked back at Pouya with murder in his eyes. “Get up. Outside. Now.”

Pouya stayed calm, deliberately so, his voice even though his pulse hammered against his ribs. He kept his eyes on Eve, not Brad, as if the man looming over him barely registered. “We have two ways to go, Brad, and Eve will choose the way for us by answering my final question: Can I be yours? If your answer is no, I will leave in peace and never come back again because your words mean more to me than my loneliness filling me. And if it’s yes, I will fight for you until the end.”

The bar seemed to hold its breath. Conversations within earshot died. A bartender polishing glasses nearby slowed his hands, watching. The jukebox in the corner switched to something slower, almost mocking the tension.

Brad stared at him like he’d been slapped with a fish. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again — the audacity of it short-circuited his brain for a solid three seconds. “You’re putting her on the spot? In front of me?”

Lily’s eyes were wide, her hand still on Eve’s arm. She whispered, barely audible, “Oh my god.”

Eve’s entire body had gone rigid. Her cards trembled between her fingers. Her golden eyes were fixed on Pouya, and something was happening behind them that she couldn’t control. Her chest rose and fell a little too fast. The question wasn’t just a question. It was a grenade with the pin pulled, and everyone at the table knew it. Her lips parted. No sound came out.

Brad’s patience evaporated. He slammed his palm on the table hard enough to rattle every glass. “She’s not answering that. She’s MY girl. You don’t get to ask her shit. Get up or I’ll put you on the floor myself.”

“Yo, can we just chill? We’re here to have fun, man,” Ray said, stepping between them, hands up.

Brad shoved him sideways without looking. “Stay out of it.”

Every eye turned to Eve. She still hadn’t spoken. The silence was deafening.

Pouya let a calm smile settle on his face, the kind that cost him effort to hold, and didn’t so much as glance at the fist Brad had balled at his side. “Dude, I have no enmity with you, and I am still waiting for my love to answer me. You want a fight? I am already there, but let me hear her response. Think of it as my preparation time.”

The calm smile seemed to infuriate Brad more than any insult could have. His jaw worked like he was chewing glass. He stepped around the table, closing the distance, bigger up close, shoulders wide, hands like catcher’s mitts, and pointed one thick finger in Pouya’s face. “You think this is funny? You think you can sit there smiling like you’re better than me?”

But Pouya didn’t flinch. That was the thing that really got under Brad’s skin — the lack of fear. Brad was built for reactions, for people cowering, for easy dominance. Someone sitting still with a smile gave him nothing to work with.

Lily leaned close to Eve, voice barely a whisper. “Eve. He’s baiting you. Don’t answer him.”

Eve’s breathing was shallow. Her golden eyes hadn’t left Pouya’s face — that calm smile. She remembered that smile. It used to make her chest ache in a different way, in a way that felt like home. Her thumb pressed hard against her bent card until it almost snapped. She opened her mouth.

Brad’s head whipped toward her. “Babe, don’t you dare.”

Her voice came out quiet, almost fragile, but clear enough for the entire table to hear. “I’m not yours.”

The words dropped like a match into gasoline. Brad’s face went white, then crimson. Marcus’s phone was definitely recording now. Luke stopped shuffling entirely. Ray covered his face with both hands.

His voice shook with barely contained fury. “What did you just say to me?”

Tears slid down Pouya’s face without any sound behind them — an odd, quiet kind of happiness cutting through the tension — and he didn’t wipe them away or look ashamed of them. “Brad, you have heard her. As I say, I am ready, but not here in front of these ladies and my love. If you want to settle something with me, you can come out.”

His tears caught the bar light, and something shifted in the room. A few people at nearby tables murmured. The vulnerability was unexpected, disarming. Brad looked like he’d been handed a gift he didn’t know how to unwrap. He blinked, thrown off balance — he’d expected cocky, aggressive, easy to hit. Not this. Not tears. His fists unclenched slightly, confusion warring with rage. He laughed, uncertain. “You crying? You’re fucking crying right now?”

Lily’s expression was complicated as she watched, trying to figure out if the tears were real. Low, to Eve: “He’s either the bravest man alive or the dumbest.”

Something cracked behind Eve’s mask. Her golden eyes glistened, just barely catching the light. She saw the tears, and her fingers curled into fists on her lap under the table. Her memory supplied an image unbidden — Pouya crying once before, in their old apartment, over something stupid she’d said, the way she’d held his face then. She looked away sharply.

Brad straightened up, puffing his chest, the uncertainty passing. He pointed at the back exit. “Fine. Outside. Right now.”

“I’m watching this. Somebody record it,” Ray said, grabbing his drink.

“Already on it,” said Marcus.

Brad looked at Eve one last time, his expression a warning. “You stay here.” He turned and walked toward the back door, expecting Pouya to follow like a dog.

Pouya knew he was no match for Brad in a straight fight, and some calculating, frightened part of him was already moving before the rest of him caught up. He reached his hand out to Eve, inviting her to take it, ready to lead her through another door and run before Brad could catch either of them.

His hand hung in the air between them, palm up, fingers slightly curled. An invitation, simple and devastating in its simplicity.

Eve stared at his hand. Her breath caught. Every rational thought in her head screamed at her to stay seated, to be smart, not to do something impulsive in front of Brad’s friends. But her body wasn’t listening to her brain. Her fingers twitched.

Lily saw it happening, her blue eyes going wide, and grabbed Eve’s other arm. “Eve. Eve, don’t.”

But Eve was already moving. Her cool fingers slid into Pouya’s palm, smaller than his, familiar in a way that made her stomach flip. She stood without a word, without looking at Brad, without looking at Lily.

Lily’s mouth fell open. “Are you SERIOUS right now?”

Pouya led Eve through a side door near the restrooms. The hallway was dim, smelling of cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Behind them, Brad pushed through the back exit into the parking lot, expecting to find Pouya waiting there for a fight. He turned, scanning the lot. “Where the fuck—”

Ray appeared in the doorway, grinning. “Uh, Brad? I think you got played, bro.”

Brad’s face contorted. He spun toward the bar’s interior, shoving past confused patrons. “EVE!”

Meanwhile Pouya and Eve were somewhere in the building, his hand still holding hers, her pulse hammering against his palm. As they ran for the car, breathless, his hand still locked around hers, Pouya said it like a confession he’d been holding for a year. “I missed you. I will not leave you alone again.”

And they reached the car.

The night air hit them like cold water as Pouya pushed through the side exit into the parking lot. His car sat three rows deep under a flickering streetlight, nothing flashy but clean. Eve’s hand was still in his, her silver hair catching the breeze.

She was running, but her mind was a mess. His words kept repeating — *I missed you. I will not leave you alone again.* Her chest hurt in a way she couldn’t name. She should pull her hand away. She should stop. She didn’t.

They reached the car, her breathing ragged, her bangs slightly messy from the wind. She stood there, looking at the vehicle, then up at him, her golden eyes wide, searching his face for something.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “You asked me if you could be mine. I never said yes.”

Behind them, inside the bar, Brad’s voice boomed through the walls. Something crashed. Glass, maybe. People were murmuring, and Lily was on her feet, pink hair swinging as she tried to process what had just happened, texting furiously — *Eve, you better answer your phone or I swear to god…*

Back in the parking lot, the distant sound of Brad’s rage echoed faintly. Eve stood close to Pouya, their hands still connected, the space between them barely a foot. A streetlight buzzed overhead. Her expression was guarded, but her pulse was visible in her throat, rapid and undeniable.

“Why did you cry?” she asked.

He answered kindly, a small sadness moving behind his eyes, like he was handing her something fragile he’d carried a long way. “Have you ever tasted loneliness? It’s horrible. And the cry was not for the pain of loneliness; it was for breaking free from it. I was so happy that I couldn’t control myself.”

Her expression shifted. The guarded mask flickered, and for a moment she looked like the Eve from a year ago, the one who used to sit cross-legged on their apartment floor eating takeout at midnight. Her lips pressed together, fighting something. She let go of his hand. The absence of warmth was immediate.

“I know what that feels like,” she said, repeating the word *loneliness* like she was tasting it, testing its weight, her golden eyes dropping to the asphalt.

She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t say whether she meant the past year or something else entirely. The streetlight above them buzzed and flickered, casting her face in alternating shadow and light. Inside the bar, the back door slammed open. Heavy footsteps.

She heard it too. Her head turned slightly toward the sound, something tightening in her jaw. When she looked back at Pouya, her expression had hardened, rebuilt itself brick by brick in seconds. “You ran from him. You used me to escape a fight. That’s what you do now? When things get hard, you run and grab whoever’s closest?”

Brad’s voice was getting louder, closer, asking people inside if they’d seen which way they went. Someone pointed toward the side exit.

Eve stepped back from the car, putting distance between herself and Pouya, arms crossing over her chest. “Answer me before he gets here.”

Pouya let out a short laugh, more nerves than humor, something harder creeping into his voice. “I am not running away from anything. As I said, I do everything to reclaim you at any cost. You said loneliness, correct? You were alone all the time and it means you didn’t care about him. He’s my rival now, and I know he’s stronger, but I have the upper hand now.”

He got ready to rush toward Brad, meaning to use his car to kill him.

Her arms tightened across her chest. The laugh bothered her more than the tears had. Something about Pouya being amused while Brad was barreling toward them made her stomach turn. She watched him get ready to rush, and her eyes widened. She grabbed his arm, fingers digging in. “You think this is a game? Stop. What are you doing?”

Heavy footsteps were getting closer. Brad’s voice cut through the night like a blade. “EVE! I know you’re out here! You think you can just walk out on me? After everything?”

He rounded the corner of the building, chest heaving, face flushed red, his eyes finding them immediately — Eve standing close to Pouya, hand on his arm. The image alone was enough to make his blood boil. He started toward them, fists swinging at his sides, and stopped about fifteen feet away, breathing hard, eyes locked on her. “There you are. Both of you. You really gonna do this? Over this loser? I’ve been there for you. I’ve protected you. And you run off with the guy who couldn’t even keep you?”

Her grip on Pouya’s arm tightened involuntarily. The words stung because they were close to something true she didn’t want to examine. She let go and stepped slightly behind him.

Brad’s eyes narrowed, noticing her hiding. A cruel smirk spread across his face. He cracked his knuckles. “Oh, that’s cute. You hiding now? Nah. Come here, Eve. Say sorry and we go home.”

Pouya looked at her steadily, the urgency of the moment pressing at the edges of his calm. “My feelings are important to me, but you are my top priority. So choose: stay there and watch I kill somebody, or get in the car and let’s run away for now, and then no one can harm you because we can settle this in front of a judge.”

She stared at his back. The words hit her in places she’d spent a year trying to seal shut. *Top priority.* He said it so easily, like it cost him nothing. Like he hadn’t just cried minutes ago and now wanted to kill someone. Her golden eyes darted between his calm posture and Brad’s approaching figure. She was calculating. Always calculating.

“I’m not getting in the car,” she said, quiet but steady.

Brad heard that. A grin split his face. “That’s my girl.”

She shot him a look cold enough to freeze the air between them. “Don’t call me that.”

The grin vanished. He took another step forward, his voice cracking on the threat, real, and Eve could hear it — a year of his possessiveness, his jealousy, his need to control every interaction she had with anyone male. This was the ultimatum she’d been waiting for. “You know what, I’m done playing nice. Both of you. Eve, get over here right now or we’re done. For real this time.”

She didn’t move. Her hands trembled at her sides, but her feet stayed planted. She looked at the back of Pouya’s head and something reckless sparked behind her eyes. It wasn’t concern. It was fact. Clinical, detached. “If you fight him, you’ll lose. But if you drive, I’ll get in.”

Brad’s face twisted with rage. He started walking faster. “You’re not getting in SHIT. Eve! NOW!”

Pouya was already moving, pulling her along at a run, and he said it almost lightly, like the danger behind them was something he could outrun with a joke. “As you wish, Eve. Time to go home.”

They moved fast, feet slapping against the asphalt, Eve’s silver hair whipping behind her like a banner, Brad’s roar following them like thunder.