Shared drops of regret #ShortStory #Fiction by Olivia Mendez
The rain hammered against the windowpane, each drop a tiny, insistent percussionist against the glass. Inside, Connie sat huddled in a worn armchair, a mug of lukewarm tea forgotten in her lap. December had always been her least favourite month, the bleakness mirroring the emptiness in her heart. She watched the streetlights blur through the downpour, each one a lonely island in a sea of gray. A lifetime of "what ifs" and "should haves" swam in her mind, a bitter, brackish tide. She should have travelled, she thought, not just to the predictable destinations on packaged tours, but to the far corners of the world, to places where the air tasted of adventure. Instead, she'd spent her youth tethered to a desk job, her dreams of faraway lands slowly suffocating under the weight of responsibility. She envisioned herself hiking the Inca Trail, the wind whipping through her hair, the air thin and exhilarating. She imagined herself sipping Turkish coffee in...
