Caption: Triangle

They stand there, bodies and faces so close, that from a distance, the picture they paint is one of nearness, of intimacy. They are oblivious to the loud music, they are at a safe enough distance from where the dancing is: two tall, good-looking men about to lock in an embrace, until some stray beam of light zeroes in for three seconds, five, and you catch sight of the barely concealed wrath on their faces. They are both wearing blue shirts.

Their chests are heaving, impassioned.The muscles in their arms are tense, and one can imagine punches straining to break free. One realizes that they are not so much about to embrace, as to grapple. Their feet are planted firm on each one's ground, and the onlooker senses that each is insisting on a height inches above the other. The light around them is a blue haze.

They are shouting at each other, and one can make out expletives from the emphatic movements of their lips. The music drowns out any chance of the (heated) discussion ever being audible, but one can certainly make out that this is a brewing fight.

About  three long strides in front of the pair, one's eyes zoom in on a girl, diminutive, even in the heels she had so carefully chosen for the night that, hours before, stretched out before her like a gleaming promise. Her hair is one long, sleek mass, and the sequins on her white shift dress are blinking at the blue lights, as she had, when she first entered the crowded hall, hoped they would.

Her face is crumpled in an agonized frown; the cigarette she's been smoking is forgotten, as her fingers seem mechanical in their hold of it. She shifts weight more often than she would care to, but this is probably the last thing that's on her mind. Biting her lower lip, she would look upward and sigh, then blink back at the scene before her, of which she is, obviously, more than just a passerby.

Indeed, that is no mere speculation, for the girl had just been dancing with one of these two men, several minutes ago; and she had watched her world crumble down when the other shut the door behind him for the last time (or so, she had thought), a couple of months ago.

And these two men, furious at their blighted, lacking knowledge of who each was to her, all but seem to remember her presence in their lives, in this one heated moment of boyish tempers.

If she walked away now, they probably would not have noticed.