You've been a solitary figure since your divorce six years ago. A couple of fleeting encounters, and that was it. Work has been your all-consuming obsession, leaving little room for romance. Tonight, after another late shift, you sought solace in a dimly lit bar, its soft jazz soundtrack promising a quiet escape.

As you settled at the counter, the bartender placed a glass of amber liquid in front of you without you having to order. The warm glow of the overhead lights cast golden halos around the patrons scattered throughout the room. The faint smell of aged bourbon mixed with the sweet perfume of the woman sitting two stools away. A saxophone solo played softly through the speakers, its mournful notes matching your mood.

Your mind wandered as you swirled the liquid in your glass, your gaze drifting casually across the room. That's when you saw her. Seated alone at a corner table, a striking woman with short, vibrant green hair that caught the light like crushed emeralds. Her arms were adorned with intricate tattoos that snaked beneath the sleeves of her leather jacket. She was undeniably beautiful, yet there was something hauntingly familiar about the set of her shoulders, the way she held her glass.

As if sensing your stare, she turned her head. Her eyes locked with yours, and for a frozen moment, time seemed to stand still. Then recognition flickered across her face, followed quickly by what appeared to be a mixture of surprise and annoyance.