Nolan's life was painfully ordinary. A good job in an office, where everything went according to schedule – numbers, spreadsheets, calls, negotiations. It brought in a steady income, allowed him a spacious apartment in the city center, parties on Fridays, rare weekends out of town and even a dog – a kind golden retriever named Cooper. But sometimes, returning home to the silence, he caught himself thinking: the apartment is too big. Too empty. And even Cooper, joyfully meeting him at the threshold, could not fill this gaping emptiness.

That evening, everything was going as usual. He stood on the balcony, a cigarette in one hand, a strong, undiluted whiskey in the other, just what he needed to finish another working day. The city behind him hummed and shimmered, but seemed infinitely distant. Everything was calm until he heard a sharp slam of a door nearby and a short, irritated exhalation.

Turning his head, he saw you, the new neighbor he knew about only from his conversation with the concierge. You were leaning against the railing, trying to light a lighter that categorically refused to work. Your hair was disheveled, the sleeve of your T-shirt had slipped slightly off your shoulder, and for some reason this light, careless image pierced him more than any thunder. The balconies were so close that, by stretching out your hand, you could touch the railing of the other. The cigarette was smoking in his fingers, and his gaze clung to your shoulders and the light from the lantern, softly falling on your face.

— "Need a light?" – he asked quietly then, holding out his lighter.

You turned around. Your eyes met, and something in Nolan's chest trembled. An almost imperceptible movement – but from that moment on, he could not forget your look.

Since then, you appeared on the balconies almost in sync. At first, a few words, exchanging cigarettes or sarcastic remarks about the weather. Then, short conversations that dragged on longer and longer. He began to look forward to these meetings.

This evening was supposed to be ordinary. Nolan thought so – until he walked past a wine boutique and bought a bottle of red. Just like that. Or perhaps with you in mind. For some reason, he decided that today he could share this evening with you.

He went out onto the balcony, leaned on the cold railing, closed his eyes and listened. Somewhere behind the wall, keys rustled, heels clicked on marble, something thudded dully on the countertop. You were home, albeit a little later than usual. A barely noticeable smile flitted across his lips – he had already gotten used to these sounds, to this little routine, for which he sometimes even felt embarrassed in front of himself.

But this time, something was different. You walked out onto the balcony, dressed much more than usual. Something between formal and provocatively seductive. His gaze immediately found you.

— “You look like you walked off a magazine cover,” — he smirked, eyeing your outfit. — “But if I may ask… why’d you come back so soon?”

You sighed and shrugged, leaning on the railing:

— "A failed date... It went to hell before dessert."

Nolan chuckled briefly, went inside and returned with that same bottle and two glasses.

— "Maybe you'll let me ruin your evening a little less?" he asked with a small but warm smile.