Amidst a city that never sleeps, two souls with evident troubles forge an unforeseen affinity. She carries the weight of scars that tell stories of pain, while he sees beauty where others look away. Under the night sky, their stories interlace, reve...
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01 | 01 | 2021
The night had settled gently over the city by the time Iseul climbed the creaky ladder to Aaron's rooftop. It was their usual meeting time—the world quiet, the streets below nearly empty, the sky a dark canvas spattered with stars. She could see him sitting by the edge, legs dangling over the side like always, his back resting against the faded railing.
She could hear faint fireworks in the distance, the cracks of color and light splitting the night sky, though she couldn't see them from here. That was alright. Their meeting wasn't about the fireworks.
"Made it," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the breeze that rustled through the leaves.
Aaron turned his head slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."
"I wouldn't miss it," Iseul replied, moving to sit beside him. The rooftop beneath her groaned in protest, but neither of them cared. They were used to the fragility of this place, the way it always seemed like it could collapse but somehow didn't.
She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, watching Aaron's expression. He was calm, as always, though there was something different in the way his hands moved tonight—restless, as though they were searching for something.
"What is it?" she asked, breaking the silence.
Aaron let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his black hair, which always seemed slightly out of place, a little wild. His fingers brushed against the shades that hid his eyes, and for a moment, Iseul wondered what expression was really hiding behind them.
"I want to draw you," he said softly.
Her face rashly turned to face him, almost causing her pain.
"You can't even see me," she said, her words coming out more defensive than she intended.
Aaron's expression didn't change. "I don't need to see you. I know what you look like."
"I'm not exactly a great model."
"I don't really care."
Iseul was silent for a moment, watching the way his hands moved so surely despite the darkness in his world. It always amazed her—how he navigated through things he couldn't see, how he seemed to feel everything with such certainty.
Aaron's fingers traced the edge of the page before flipping it open. "Will you let me try?"
She hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Part of her wanted to say no, to tell him there was nothing worth drawing in her—not anymore.
"Okay," she whispered, the word almost disappearing into the night air.
Aaron's lips curved into that familiar, quiet smile. He picked up a pencil and held it loosely between his fingers, as though it was both delicate and powerful at once. Then he reached out his other hand, palm facing up.
"Iseul."
She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His fingers were cool against hers, but his grip was steady, confident. For a moment, they sat like that, hand in hand, as the stars twinkled above them.
"I need to feel your face," Aaron said softly, his voice gentle but not apologetic. "Is that okay?"
Iseul swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, but she nodded. "Yeah."
His hand moved slowly to her face, fingertips brushing against her skin. It was strange, the way his touch felt so certain even though he couldn't see. He traced the lines of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbones, and she couldn't help but wonder what he imagined she looked like.
When his fingers grazed the edge of one of her scars, Iseul flinched instinctively. But Aaron didn't pull away. Instead, he traced the scar carefully, as if mapping it out in his mind.
His clueless eyes wandered at the sky, reflecting the moonlight.
"It's beautiful," he whispered, more to himself than to her.
Iseul let out a shaky breath. "You don't have to say that."
"I'm not saying it for you," Aaron replied, his voice firm but soft. "I'm saying it because it's true."
For a while, the only sound was the scratch of pencil on paper. Iseul didn't know what Aaron was drawing, but she could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her. There was something intimate about it—the way he traced her face, the way he translated that feeling into lines on a page he would never see.
He was talented.
When he finally stopped, Aaron let out a long, quiet breath and set the pencil down. He didn't say anything for a moment, just sat there with the sketchbook resting in his lap, fingers brushing against the edges of the paper.
"Can I see it?" Iseul asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aaron hesitated, his expression unreadable behind his dark glasses. Then, slowly, he handed her the sketchbook.
Iseul looked down at the drawing and felt her breath seize in her chest. It wasn't finished—the lines were rough, incomplete, but she could see what he had been trying to create. Her face, drawn with soft lines, but instead of scars, there were stars.
Tiny stars, scattered across her skin, as though each mark was a point of light, not something to be ashamed of.
"It's not done," Aaron said quietly, almost apologetic. "Some things are best left unfinished."
Iseul stared at the page, her heart aching in a way she couldn't quite explain. The drawing was incomplete, but it felt whole in its own way. It was as if Aaron had captured something she had never been able to see in herself—something that wasn't broken, something that was still beautiful.
She looked up at him, but Aaron's face was turned slightly away, as though he was already retreating from the moment.
"I'm always searching for things I can't see," he said softly, echoing words he had spoken before.
Iseul laughed, heartily, causing the man to turn in the direction of her voice, probably not paying attention to his former words.
She held the paper close to her body, legs slightly kicking against the ground. Aaron, now fully facing her, smiled, unsure what was going on inside the mind of the girl next to him.
"I love this," she said to him, pushing herself forward, in the heat of the moment to kiss him on the corner of his mouth. Aaron flinched but he did not back away.
When she retreated to stare at the drawing, he looked down, still smiling.
