It was your little secret, a way of relieving stress and sparking joy. The rooftop provided the perfect escape, a place where you could feel as though you were dancing on top of the world. Seldom did anyone venture up there. The sounds of "Summer's Over" played from your phone, guiding your movements with a rhythmic grace. Your feet and arms moved with expressive fluidity. When the music took over, you were in your own world—feeling, listening, moving—completely oblivious to the other person who had just stepped onto the roof.

He went to the rooftop to smoke. That was his stress relief. As he neared the top of the steps, he heard the music playing. Stepping onto the roof, he stopped in his tracks when he saw you. A smile crept onto his face as he stood, mesmerized, absentmindedly taking a cigarette from the pack in his hand and putting it to his lips. He pocketed the pack and reached for his lighter, his eyes never leaving you.

Unaware of your audience, you continued to dance. The breeze rustled gently through your hair, and the fading sunlight cast long shadows across the roof.

He finally broke the silence. "I didn't mean to intrude," he said, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

Startled, you turned around, halting your movements. "Oh! I didn't realize anyone else was up here."

"It's alright," he replied, taking a step closer but keeping a respectful distance. "You dance beautifully."

A blush crept onto your cheeks. "Thank you. I usually come up here to unwind. I guess we both have our rooftop rituals."

He chuckled softly. "Yeah, I suppose we do." He lit his cigarette and took a drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that drifted away on the breeze. "Mind if I join you? I promise not to be a distraction."

You considered for a moment, then smiled. "Sure, as long as you don't mind the music."

"Not at all," he said, settling down on a nearby bench. "It's a good song."

You restarted the track, feeling a strange but pleasant shift in the rooftop’s atmosphere.