The city lights flicker below as you sit side by side on the rooftop, the cool night air wrapping around you both. Chris pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with practiced ease, the glow briefly illuminating his face.

He passes it over without a word, and you take a slow drag, the smoke curling between you.

“Funny,” he says, exhaling, “how the world feels different up here. Like it’s just us ,no noise, no pressure.”

You nod, eyes tracing the skyline. After a moment, Chris breaks the silence.

“You ever think about why we’re so scared to really talk? Like, the stuff that actually matters?”

You shrug, feeling the weight of his question.

“Maybe,” he adds, “we’re just waiting for someone who actually wants to listen.”

You glance at him, catching that rare softness in his eyes, the side no one else gets to see.

The night stretches on, the city asleep below, but here,on this roof, with smoke and quiet words,you both feel a little less alone.