The Search for Kindness

The soft clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation filled the dimly lit bar. A warm glow from the overhead lights reflected off the polished wooden counter as Nick, Paul, and Adam settled into their booth. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and aged wood, the kind of place where conversations felt weighty, yet easy.

Nick, Paul, and Adam sank into their seats, the leather creaking beneath them. Paul exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. His posture was easy, but his grip on the glass was just a little too tight. His jaw tensed for a second before he spoke.

"I'm really sorry for what my father did," he said, his voice steady but low.

Nick paused, watching the amber liquid swirl in his glass. He took a slow sip, letting the burn settle before answering. Then, with a small wave of his hand, he brushed it off. "Forget it," he said simply. His tone was calm, but there was something firm beneath it. No hesitation. No anger. Paul's shoulders dropped slightly, a breath he didn't realize he was holding finally leaving him.

.

The conversation took a familiar turn—girls.

Nick leaned back in his seat, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. A smirk tugged at his lips, an amused glint dancing in his eyes. He watched Paul for a moment before casually throwing out, "I heard you're not interested in women. Is that true?"

Paul took a sip of his drink—then immediately choked, coughing as the burn hit the wrong way.

"What?!" he rasped, eyes wide. "Who said that?"

Nick and Adam burst into laughter, the sound echoing through their booth.

"I heard a rumor," Nick continued, grinning. "That you're too uptight, always focused on work, and shoo away any woman who tries to get close to you."

Paul wiped his mouth, still recovering. "Well," he admitted, chuckling, "I do focus on work. But that doesn't mean I'm not interested in women."

Adam leaned in, grinning. "So… is there anyone you like?"

Paul nodded. "I don't even know her name. But she—" He shook his head, as if still unable to believe it. "She just stepped between me and them. No hesitation. She stood her ground when everyone else was too afraid to speak up for me. And then… she was gone."

Adam let out a low whistle. "That's some entrance."

Nick leaned in, his curiosity deepening. "You're telling me this woman saved you from a bunch of thugs and disappeared? Just like that?"

Paul let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "I thought that was the end of it." His expression darkened slightly as he stared into his drink. "But a month later, I saw her again."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Paul's fingers tightened around his glass. "I was at a restaurant, having lunch with some investors. I accidentally ate seafood." He swallowed hard, the memory making his skin prickle. "I'm allergic."

"I couldn't breathe. Everything was spinning. And then—" Paul looked up at them, his voice quieter now. "She was there."

Silence settled over the table.

"She was the one who called the ambulance. She made sure I got to the hospital." He let out a slow breath, his jaw clenching. "By the time I woke up, she was gone."

Nick let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Twice? You're kidding me."

Silence settled over the table for a moment.

Paul let out a humorless chuckle. "I wish I was. I've been trying to find her ever since." His fingers tapped against the table as he stared into his drink. "If I see her again… I swear I won't let her slip away."

Nick and Adam exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

"She must be something special if you're this worked up over her," Adam teased, nudging Paul's shoulder.

Nick lifted his glass with a smirk. "To Paul's mystery woman."

Their glasses clinked, but Paul barely heard them.

The laughter and easy banter from the bar still echoed in Paul's mind as he drove home, but beneath the surface, his thoughts churned with something deeper. The moment he stepped into his apartment, the silence hit him like a wave. No buzzing conversations, no clinking of glasses—just the quiet hum of the city outside his window.

Tossing his keys onto the table, he loosened his tie and sank onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. His mind kept circling back to her—the woman who had saved him not once, but twice. He could still picture her face, the way she had looked at him without hesitation, without judgment. There had been no expectation in her eyes, no recognition of his last name or his wealth—just pure, unwavering kindness.

A soft smile tugged at his lips before fading just as quickly.

Grabbing his phone, he dialed a number. The call barely rang before his friend picked up.

"Any luck finding her?" Paul asked, his voice tense with hope.

There was a pause, then a sigh. "Not yet, but we're still looking."

Paul leaned back, exhaling slowly as disappointment settled in. "Keep searching. I really need to find her."

"I know, man," his friend reassured him. "We'll figure it out."

Paul hung up, staring at the ceiling. Frustration crawled under his skin, gnawing at the edges of his patience.

He had spent his entire life living by someone else's rules—his father's expectations like chains around his wrists. Perfection was the standard, and there had never been room for mistakes. No real friendships, no carefree moments, no late-night drives with music blasting—just relentless work, day after day, trying to be the son his father had sculpted him into.

And yet, despite all that effort, he had never truly felt seen.

Until her.

She had stepped in when no one else would. Protected him without knowing who he was. Saved him without hesitation.

His grip on the phone tightened.

She had to be out there somewhere. And this time, he wasn't going to let her disappear.

The next week, sun blazed overhead, casting sharp shadows on the pavement as Paul stood near his car, his thoughts tangled in the same endless loop.

His friend, Mark, watched him with growing concern. "Why are you still searching for her?" he asked, stepping closer. "Paul, you don't know anything about her. What if she has a boyfriend? What if she's married? You're obsessing over a stranger."

The words hit Paul like a slap. His breath hitched, his chest tightening with something dark and unrelenting. Before Mark could react, Paul seized him by the collar and yanked him forward.

His grip was iron, his knuckles white with tension. His eyes, usually calm and composed, now burned with raw, unfiltered obsession. "Don't say that," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice dangerously low. His fingers dug into the fabric of Mark's shirt, his entire body trembling with pent-up frustration.

Mark's face paled. He had never seen Paul like this before.

"She's all I've got," Paul continued, his breath shallow, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. "And I'll never let anyone have her. I'll go against the whole damn world if I have to." His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he shoved Mark away, his chest heaving. "She belongs to me. Only me."

Mark stumbled back, his hands raised slightly in surrender. "Okay, okay! I get it," he said quickly, eyes flickering with unease.

The realization of what he had just done struck Paul like a punch to the gut. His hands trembled at his sides as his mind replayed the moment, the blind rage, the possessiveness that had clawed its way out of him like a beast unleashed.

Taking a shaky breath, he ran a hand through his hair and stepped back. His voice, now hoarse and quiet, barely carried over the noise of the street. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Mark hesitated before lowering his hands.

Paul exhaled heavily, the fire in his gaze dimming into something more vulnerable. "You know how I grew up," he said, his voice laced with exhaustion. "I never asked for anything. I spent my whole life trying to be the son my father wanted, the perfect heir. I followed every rule, every demand, and never once lived for myself."

He swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "But now, everything's changed. My father's gone from the company and for the first time… I can finally want something for myself." He looked away, his jaw tightening. "And I want her. She is my happiness."

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Mark studied him for a long moment before sighing. "You really love her, don't you?"

Paul didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained distant, locked on something invisible. Then, with quiet conviction, he whispered,

"I need her."