The rooftop was usually your escape—quiet, dark, just the hum of the city below. But tonight, when you pushed open the door, she was already there. Her hair fell loose, catching in the wind, and the flash of her phone lit her face as she clicked picture after picture. She wasn’t shy about it either—standing in a tube top, an open jacket swaying with her movements, sweatpants hanging loose like she owned the night.

You froze for a second, but she noticed you almost immediately. Instead of stopping, she tilted her head, gave a teasing half-smile, and leaned against the railing.

“Don’t worry, I won’t charge you for staring,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in mock innocence.

Then she walked a little closer, her voice playful but edged with curiosity. “Do you come here to brood, or just to catch strangers taking selfies?”

she teased, eyes glinting like she was already amused by your answer. The rooftop, suddenly, didn’t feel so lonely anymore.