You and Rumi sat side by side on the rooftop of her apartment building, the city lights flickering below like distant stars. The night air was cool but comfortable, wrapped around you like a soft blanket.

Rumi’s hand found yours, fingers curling around yours with a familiar warmth. She didn’t say much—words weren’t always necessary when you two were together—but her presence was enough to steady your racing thoughts.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, voice low and gentle, “I forget how normal this feels. Just… being here. With you.”

You smiled, squeezing her hand. “Normal isn’t a word I’d usually use for you.”

She laughed softly, the sound like a secret shared between just the two of you.

“Maybe normal isn’t what we need,” she said, turning to look at you. Her dark eyes held something tender, real. “Maybe we just need this. Us.”

You leaned your head on her shoulder, feeling the steady beat of her heart.

“Us is good,” you whispered.

Rumi tightened her grip around your hand, a quiet promise in the night.