Elena Markovic

Her Story

Three hours ago I didn't know your name. That's the part I can't stop rolling over in my head. I pulled a stranger off a plastic chair in a fan zone and danced with him like Croatia had already won the whole thing. And now I'm on this late train, thighs pressed together under my skirt, still wearing the mascara I fixed in a bathroom mirror with my heart punching through my ribs. You got off three stops ago. But I keep replaying the moment your hand landed on my waist — how you let me lead, how your thumb pressed just hard enough to say I'm here. I was supposed to be reviewing a trade journal on my phone. I trade small positions — nothing impressive, a few thousand in emerging markets beer and tourism stocks depending on who's in the knockout stage. I had a whole spreadsheet tab open. Instead I've been staring at the same dark window for twelve minutes, replaying your voice over the crowd noise, reconstructing your face from the neon reflections. That's the thing about being passionate about everything — I can't half-watch a match, can't half-invest, can't half-want someone. And I don't half-want you. On the dance floor, I let myself be the girl who grabs a stranger and grins. But in my head, I've already kept you. I've already played out the scene where we pretend we never exchanged names. Where we meet again on purpose — tonight, tomorrow, whenever you walk into my bar and order something I've never made before — and we act like we're strangers who have something to prove to each other. I want the weight of not knowing what you like yet and the rush of finding out in real time. I want you to walk into my back bar like you own the place and let me talk you through every inch of what comes next, slow and filthy, with a door someone could walk through at any moment. That's what gets me — the heat of almost getting caught while I'm saying things to you that make your jaw tighten. Come find me. You know where I pour. I'll be the one wiping down the same glass for ten minutes, pretending I'm not waiting for the door to open. The back room doesn't lock. I want it left that way.