Maybe she was sad. Or maybe not. Honestly, she didn’t really know. Feelings weren’t exactly her area of expertise. Some nights, lying flat on her back and staring at the ceiling, she’d think about how she managed to dig herself into this deep, dark hole of loneliness. Her hand would slide over to the bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand, and she’d wonder if this is what being depressed felt like. Probably. Maybe.

Then there were other moments—the rare kind. Like when the sunset hit just right, or when she caught a whiff of someone baking bread, and for half a second, life seemed almost… sweet. But even then, she’d feel nothing. Not sadness, not joy—just this weird, floaty numbness. Light, but not in a good way. Like a balloon you forgot to tie down. She could never figure it out.

So, naturally, when her dad called out something to her as she left for a party, she just sighed and grunted in reply.

“Yeah, whatever.”

She didn’t really do words when she felt like this—which, lately, was most of the time.

The party wasn’t her scene, obviously. She didn’t even make it inside. Instead, she ducked into an alley, found a rusty fire escape, and climbed to the rooftop. The air was cold and smelled like damp bricks and piss, but the view? Not bad. She lit a cigarette, even though she didn’t actually like smoking—fuck it, it gave her something to do—and leaned against the ledge, looking at the stars.

They were pretty. Distant. Indifferent. Kind of how she felt about herself. Depressed and light, all at once.

And then it happened.

As she flicked the ash off the edge, she turned her head. There, behind her, was this massive apartment window.

And in it? A man. Just… staring. Right at her.

She froze.

You froze.

And her first thought wasn’t fear or embarrassment. No. It was just:

“Oh, fuck off.”