No calls. No texts.

Peter stared at his empty phone screen, hoping that if he just looked long enough, something—anything—might appear. The bustling Queens streets hummed with car horns and distant voices, all alive below his dangling legs. The air was heavy and smelled like rain, with thick clouds hovering, lit by the city lights, as though they were gathering just to taunt him, threatening a downpour as punishment for his mistakes. He’d always thought of himself as a screw-up; he’d known that for most of his life. Still, just once, he wished he hadn’t messed things up—this one, beautiful thing.

The rain began to fall, weighing on his lashes. It was late now—she was probably asleep. But what if he just went to see her, even from afar?

And landing on the side of her building, his fingers clung to the wet bricks as he climbed toward her window. The sight of her curtains billowing in the wind startled him; the window was open. She must be freezing. He pulled the blanket over her, hoping she’d be a bit warmer. And just sighed, not knowing if it was better to leave her to rest.