ANTAR #004

The ballroom believed it was important.

Crystal chandeliers rehearsed their sparkle. Dresses whispered numbers no one said aloud. Shoes clicked with purpose, as if each step had been trained for this night alone. Somewhere, a violin was warming up, nervous despite decades of excellence.

ANTAR arrived wearing exactly what he always wore.

Not wrong. Just… unrelated.

He stood near a marble column holding a glass of something bubbly he had not asked for, studying it as if it might explain itself. It did not. He nodded politely anyway.

People noticed.

“He’s brave,” someone said, mistaking comfort for confidence.
“He must be very important,” said another, mistaking calm for status.
“No,” a third whispered, “he must be very lost.”

ANTAR watched couples rehearse affection while adjusting cufflinks. He listened to conversations about years that had not yet happened. Resolutions were exchanged like party favors, lightly and without instructions.

When the orchestra began, ANTAR smiled—not at the music, but at the pause just before it. That small, collective inhale. He remembered many like it. Some had ended in fireworks. Some in silence. All had believed themselves to be beginnings.

A woman asked him what he did.

“I observe,” he replied kindly.

She laughed, assuming irony, and drifted away.

At midnight, glasses rose. Cheers collided. Time was congratulated loudly for passing.

ANTAR raised his glass a second late.

He drank to nothing specific.

It tasted familiar.

End of Log #004