The Higher We Soar

2. Too many sandwiches

Big parties were never really my favorite places to be. The constant buzz, questionable food, that dense, stuffy air, and a maze of people who'd already drunk more alcohol in half an hour than some do in a lifetime. Not exactly my idea of a good time.

Big parties were never really my favorite places to be, but occasionally, amidst the chaos, I could find an odd pleasure in observing the dynamics of people in such a large group. Because at times, if you blinked just right, you could catch a glimpse of their unguarded moments, those hidden facets of their personalities that otherwise remained concealed in the more restrained settings of everyday life. That, I must admit, had always been the most interesting part of any party I had been to.

Work parties were exactly the same. Wrap up a big project, or actually just confirm it, and voilà! A party, full of important and slightly less important people, kind of organized itself. Attendance was definitely not obligatory, but if you were a contributor to the success, it felt somewhat weird to be a no-show. Besides, after a few weeks of really hard work that seemed to have somewhat paid off, the desire to have some fun finally kicked in.

So, after my necessary round of conversations with people I simply had to talk to, I figured it was high time to unwind. Somehow.

The clock had just struck midnight, and there I was, navigating through a sea of inebriated souls. Almost like Cinderella, it crossed my mind, idiotic scenes of a non-existent musical started to flash through my mind.

Glass in hand, I meandered through the crowd, on the lookout for someone worth engaging in a conversation that didn't feel like small talk on repeat. It was then that our collision occurred, an accidental, somehow casual, yet it felt like it was inevitable.

Right in the middle of my silly Cinderella renditions - Sillyrella, if you will - I bumped straight into Maddox, or rather, he bumped into me, with a laugh. The impact was quite strong, yet it only caused my glass and his to meet with a delicate clinking sound that sent him into fits of laughter almost immediately. Amidst his infectious mirth, he hastily rearranged his tousled blond hair and gave my glass another playful tap.

"Oh! All apologies!" he muttered, his eyes sparkling with amusement and just a little hint of intoxication.

In response, I just smiled back and offered a nonchalant, "No biggie."

I noticed his dark shirt seemed to be buttoned up slightly wrong, as if he had done so in haste or without the full precision of sobriety. It also looked like he somehow fought with the urge to say something to me, his mouth poised to form words that never quite found their way out. Instead, he bore his eyes into mine, let out another bout of laughter, and made a rather futile attempt to neaten his shirt, probably unaware of its pesky buttons in incorrect places.

He didn't utter another word though, so I was about to leave him be, as usual. But then he caught me off guard, asking suddenly, unsure somehow, 'Hey you. Do you remember me?'

Leaning in slightly, I shielded our conversation from the raucous procession of giggling girls that swept past us and replied, 'I think I do. Maddie, right? Sophie's intern?' Glancing around, I added, 'Having fun?'

He nodded eagerly, his grin oddly timed as he exclaimed, "I'm coming out of my cage, and I've been doing just fine!"

"That's... good to hear," I replied, my words stumbling out awkwardly.

Hadn't I heard that phrase somewhere before?

Well. He didn't say anything else, and, in addition, looked at me with some kind of unexpected impatience. It was clear that he had very little desire to engage in further conversation with me, his gaze restlessly shifting from me to the people surrounding us, to his own black boots, and occasionally to my half-empty glass - which definitely wasn't a magical shoe, by the way, yet it fit my hand perfectly.