The invitation to Maya’s work party had arrived, crisp and boasting a fancy font. Liam, however, felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He hadn't been thrilled about the event from the start. Maya worked in “global finance,” she’d always said, a vague term he'd filled in with assumptions of important meetings and expense accounts. Now, staring at his reflection in the mirror, his everyday clothes seemed laughably inadequate. He straightened his tie, tugging at the collar. He should have gotten a haircut.
He found the party in a penthouse overlooking the city. Drinks flowed freely, and conversations buzzed with insider jargon. Liam, clutching his lukewarm beer, felt a flush creep up his neck. He caught snippets of conversation – mergers, acquisitions, and deals he couldn’t even begin to understand. Maya, radiant in a designer dress, introduced him to her colleagues. Their polished smiles and easy confidence made him want to melt into the patterned rug.
A tall man with slicked-back hair clapped him on the shoulder. “So, what do you do, Liam?” he asked, his tone friendly but assessing. Liam stammered, “Oh, uh, I'm... I'm a writer.” He hated the way it sounded. The man's polite nod felt dismissive. Later, he saw Maya at the bar, laughing with a group. He overheard them talking about spreadsheets. He drifted away, the knot in his stomach growing tighter, feeling a profound sense of disparity.