The morning after

He wakes up alone.

The room is bright with early morning light bleeding through the curtains. The space beside him is empty, the sheet on her side pulled back, a faint indentation in the pillow the only evidence that anyone was there at all.

He lies still for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

The house is quiet in the particular way that only happens after a party has fully run its course. No music. No voices. Just the occasional sound of someone moving somewhere down the hall, the distant closing of a door, the world resuming its normal pace completely indifferent to everything that happened here last night.

He sits up slowly.

His tuxedo jacket is on the chair in the corner. His phone is on the nightstand. He reaches for it.

Several notifications. Missed calls. Messages from people he will deal with later.

He sets it back down.

He gets up and moves to the window, pulling the curtain aside slightly. Outside the neighborhood looks exactly the same as it always has. Someone is walking a dog. A car passes. The ordinary world going about its ordinary business on the other side of the glass.

He lets the curtain fall.

Senior year is over.

Prom is done. The after party is done. Whatever this night was, whatever it meant or did not mean, it is now a thing that happened rather than a thing that is happening.