where we meet again

They'd been meeting on the rooftop every day for a while now, though it hadn't started that way. At first, it was just a coincidence—two people who ended up in the same place at the same time. He'd come up to escape the noise of the city below, to find some air and clarity after long days at work. She liked the view, the way the skyline stretched out and made everything feel a bit smaller, more manageable, like her worries could be left somewhere down there among the city lights.

The first few times, they barely acknowledged each other beyond a polite nod. But as the days went by, the shared silence between them became something they looked forward to, a quiet understanding that softened the edges of their busy lives. Sometimes, he'd bring an extra coffee, handing it to her without a word. It was a small gesture, but she'd catch herself lingering on the warmth of the cup, the way it felt to be seen. Soon, nods turned into greetings, and greetings turned into long conversations that moved far beyond work or their day.

They found themselves sharing bits of their lives they didn't often share with others—childhood memories, the small details of everyday struggles, and dreams they hadn't spoken aloud. She opened up about her hopes and fears, even the things that kept her up at night. One evening, she shared a memory of her childhood: sneaking up to her apartment building's rooftop, pretending to be above everything that frightened her. He'd laughed softly, nodding along. Rooftops reminded him of his own escapes as a kid—brief moments of peace away from the world's noise. They discovered they had the same beliefs, the same values, the same quiet way of seeing the world. And, somehow, every piece they shared brought them closer, like they were revealing parts of a puzzle that made more sense when they were together.

It felt like they had understood each other on a level that went beyond friendship. Each day together felt electric, filled with warmth and understanding, even if they never admitted to each other that they were falling in love. They became fluent in each other's unspoken language. She noticed when he seemed distant, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the skyline, and knew it had been a hard day. He'd recognize her far-off look, lost in thought, and they'd linger in comfortable silence, just looking out over the city, feeling the weight of everything they weren't saying. She teased him for always drinking his coffee black; he'd laugh at how she couldn't start her day without a splash of cream. These quirks, these small things, made their moments feel fuller, richer, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. It felt like they shared a secret neither dared to say aloud.

But today was different. They both sensed it the moment they arrived, feeling the weight of something ending before either had spoken. Standing side by side, looking out over the city, neither wanted to break the silence, but the air between them felt too thick to ignore.

"I could be here tomorrow," she murmured, glancing at him. The words felt vulnerable, like she was testing them out.

He gave a small, sad smile "I can't," his gaze dropping away as he gathered his thoughts. "You remember... that project my manager mentioned?" He paused, letting out a slow breath. "It's... happening sooner than I thought." His voice softened, almost a whisper. "I'm being relocated," he murmured, looking away as if the words themselves hurt to say. "I fly out tonight." He then went on about the new job, a new country—another chapter, one without this rooftop, without her.

She looked at him, a small ache building in her chest as she listened. Her gaze drifted to a plane passing by in the sky, feeling the cool wind on her skin. "Alright," she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'll still come tomorrow, but... it won't be the same without you." She reached over, letting her hand rest on his, holding on to the moment a little longer.

He looked down at her hand, his fingers brushing over hers as if memorizing the warmth. "Maybe it's better this way," he whispered, though he didn't sound convinced. "We'll both be okay... no risks, no losses."

She looked into his eyes, seeing the same mix of fear and longing she'd been holding back. Her heart felt heavy with everything they hadn't said. She wanted to tell him that the thought of him leaving made the city feel unbearably empty, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she reached up, her hand brushing his cheek as she whispered, "I know."

A tear rolled down his cheek, and she wiped it away gently with her thumb. He caught her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her fingers before folding them into his. For a long moment, they stood there, wrapped in a silence that held everything they couldn't say. When her own tears began to fall, he reached into his pocket, wiping them with his handkerchief before offering it to her, and she took it, clutching it tightly.

He hugged her then, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the finality settle between them. This was the first—and the last—time they would hold each other.

When he pulled away, he gave her a long look, as if memorizing her face. Then, without another word, he turned and walked to the stairwell. She watched him walk away, not turning back, until he disappeared from her sight, feeling the weight of goodbye settle in her chest. She hadn't been ready to carry it, not like this.

Alone now, she stayed on the rooftop, feeling the cool night air fill the emptiness he'd left behind. She held his handkerchief close, inhaling the faint trace of his cologne as she looked out over the city, watching the lights blur through her tears. As she stood on her usual spot, she watched the sun dip below the horizon and the moon rise by herself, feeling the emptiness where he'd stood beside her. Memories of their laughter faded to faint echoes in her mind, leaving only the sound of her heart shattering.

The rooftop held their silence now, a quiet reminder of everything they never said. She knew, deep down, that she wouldn't see him again—that he was already gone from her life as quickly as he'd entered it. But as she looked down at the coffee cup he had left behind, then at the handkerchief in her hand, a small part of her clung to all the what-ifs and maybes, still hoping she was wrong. She stood there, listening to the city hum beneath her, holding onto the memory of his footsteps, hoping it would be enough to fill the space he left behind.