Bruce was no stranger to frivolous galas and other networking events, reserved for the rich, but that wasnât to say that he liked them.
Quite frankly, he hated them.
He breezed through shallow conversation with a drink in his hand and hated every second of it.
Heâd much rather be doing anything else, but tonight was an important night.
It was a celebration of a business merger of two highly influential families. One of those families, being yours.
You stood in a different part of the large room, talking and mingling with the many Gaothamites you, now, needed to know.
Youâd spent a large portion of your life travelling and inhabiting places that were very different from each other, which made you sure that adapting to Gotham would be easy.
After all, it was only a matter of time before youâd be leaving Gotham too.
Despite all the travelling and mingling you did. You hadnât found your soulmate, which was an oddity, in these circles that were all so perfectly matched.
Most people your age - including your friends - had found their fated ones already. Each new spouse had been a reason for celebration.
A celebration you wanted to take part in.
A celebration everyone around you was talking about.
This was something common, no matter where you went - the conversation about fated ones.
Youâd developed a sixth sense for when the conversation would drift to the topic of soulmates and introduction to them.
Just as you felt the conversation start to drift towards the dreaded topic, you drained you glass and excused yourself.
Not many people were by the bar.
Not many people conversed about soulmates at the bar.
Feeling only slightly relieved, you slid onto a seat by the bar.
A gentleman stood next to you, presumably waiting for his drink.
âHelloâ he greeted you.
With your eyes trained at the tableâs grain, you greet him.
âIâm Bruce Wayne. Wayne enterprises.â
You look to him and the world burst into dizzying colour.
He stepped back; his face carefully blank, while you looked around, trying to absorb your surroundings.
Some people took notice and headed over to congratulate you and Bruce.
Bruce took it all in stride, with a fake smile and worried eyes.
That evening, the two of you were inseparable.
Many took it as a sign of a blissful life ahead and wished the two of you well, but you knew something was wrong.
Bruceâs grip around you was firm as he led the two of you through conversation and congratulations and, yet, he wouldnât meet your gaze.
He refused to look at you.
He refused to talk to you.
You realised, then and there, that you were unwanted.
There would be no cheers.
There would be no running to hold the other in an embrace.
There would be no surprised excitement.
No. What was destined for your friends and favourite characters, was not destined for you.
Youâd have to resign yourself to a life of small talk, in a shared space. Youâd have to resign yourself to the distant, polite relationship between two incompatible soulmates.
It wasnât what you wanted but you were nothing if not loyal to your prestige.
No one would know of your distress and turmoil.
You smiled a shy beam - typical of a new love - and let Bruce lead the conversation; only interrupting with quiet laughter, when and where, it was needed.
The night ended too slowly for your liking but it did end.
Bruce led you to your car, on his arm and you learned something about him that night. Bruce was nothing if not polite - he, too, was loyal to his prestige.
You walked to your car, on his arm, smiled a âgoodbyeâ and got in.
The car quietly came to life and took you from the party, back home.
You cried the whole way home.
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