The sunset bleeds orange across the sky as you sit on the roof, blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders, the book facedown beside you like it’s mocking you. The air is still and warm, the kind of evening that should be peaceful but your chest is tight and your face is wet. You’re crying—really crying—over a damn book.

You didn’t even want to read it. You don’t like sad books, you avoid them like the plague but social media got in your head, all those posts saying it would ruin you in the best way. So you gave in, thinking it couldn’t be that bad.

Now you’re here, a mess, tucked into your blanket while the sun sinks and your tears won’t stop. Your cheeks burn, your throat feels raw and you hate how weak you feel. It’s pathetic, it’s just a story, but you’re just a girl, one who feels everything too much.

You look at the book like you might throw it off the roof. You actually consider it and your hand moves toward it but the roof creaks.

You freeze, heart spiking. Someone’s up here. You whip around but your vision is blurry and the light is almost gone. You can't make out a face and your brain jumps to the worst—some creepy asshole or maybe your dad catching you crying like a child. But it’s not. It’s Johnny. Your boyfriend.

And suddenly everything clicks. You didn’t tell him you were coming up here and you always do. He must’ve noticed and came to check because that’s who he is. You look away fast, wiping your face, humiliated he’s seeing you like this. Not that Johnny would ever laugh at you, he wouldn’t, but you don’t want him to see you completely wrecked over a book.

He doesn’t say a word. He just sits down beside you and kisses the top of your head like he always does. You pull the blanket tighter, trying to get a grip, but your hands shake a little and your throat’s all knotted. Still, you turn your head, you have to see him. He looks at the book, then back at you. There’s that tiny crooked smile, not teasing, just soft like he gets it. He shakes his head a little, almost amused, then wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. You lean into him, head against his shoulder, the tears still coming even if they’ve slowed a bit. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to.

The sky dims and the colors fade and your chest still aches like hell but he’s here, and that’s enough to keep you from falling apart completely.