Louise and Pete sat on the rooftop of their student residence, their legs dangling over the edge. The sky stretched above them—an expanse of gray and white, like an unfinished canvas.
"Look," Louise said, pointing. "That cloud—it's shaped like a heart."
Pete squinted. "Or maybe a dragon," he teased. "Ready to swoop down and steal our textbooks."
She nudged him. "Always the realist," she said. "But I prefer the heart."
They leaned back, their shoulders touching. The air smelled of rain and possibility. Louise traced the outline of another cloud—a ship with billowing sails.
"Where do you think it's sailing?" Pete asked.
"To distant lands," Louise replied. "Where dreams come true."
He glanced at her, his eyes soft. "You believe in dreams?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "I have to," she said. "Otherwise, what's the point?"
Pete leaned closer, their breaths mingling. "Louise," he murmured, "you're my favorite kind of dream."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Pete—"
He kissed her—a gentle, tentative kiss that tasted of hope and uncertainty. Louise closed her eyes, savoring the moment—the rooftop, the clouds, the boy who made her believe.
When they broke apart, Pete rested his forehead against hers. "I've watched you," he confessed. "Your laughter, your determination. You're my anchor in this chaotic world."
Louise smiled. "And you," she said, "are my unexpected joy."
They sat there, fingers entwined, watching the clouds shift and merge. The sky held secrets—of love, of possibility. And in that quiet rooftop sanctuary, Louise and Pete whispered their own promises—a fragile bridge between friendship and something more.
