The days passed slowly, like scenes from a film shot in soft focus-every hour tinted with the memory of glances, the echo of laughter, the way her name sounded in his voice.
Jake wasn't one to chase. He had always let people come and go, like tides-believing that what was meant to stay would find a reason. But with Hriva… he found himself wanting to make time, not just wait for it.
So when he messaged her late one evening with a simple:
You doing anything tonight?
He stared at the screen longer than he cared to admit.
She replied five minutes later.
Only if it doesn't involve loud places or fake smiles.
He grinned.
Rooftop. 8:30. Wear something warm.
When she arrived, the city was bathed in twilight, its lights flickering like fireflies in the distance. The rooftop was quiet, private. Just a blanket, a thermos of coffee, and the two of them sitting beneath a canopy of stars.
Hriva looked up, lips parted slightly. "You really went full movie scene on me, huh?"
Jake smirked. "You'll get used to it."
She sat beside him, pulling her jacket tighter. "You always do this kind of thing?"
He paused. "Only with people who make the world feel quieter."
The silence between them wasn't heavy. It was intimate. Gentle. Like the space between notes in a song-necessary.
Hriva looked at the sky, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes I feel like I'm surrounded by people and still completely alone."
Jake didn't respond right away. Then he leaned back, arms behind his head. "I know that feeling. Like you're screaming, but no one hears you?"
She turned her head toward him. "Exactly."
He met her eyes. "I hear you."
Something inside her chest shifted. A tremble. A warmth.
Jake told her stories that night. About losing his brother in a car accident when he was seventeen. About how he didn't talk about it much because people either gave him pity or tried to fix it.
"But you can't fix grief," he said softly. "You just learn how to carry it without it crushing you."
Hriva listened without interrupting. Her heart ached for him-not in the shallow way people feel sympathy, but deeply. Because now she understood why his eyes always looked like they were searching for something.
When he asked about her, she hesitated.
She wanted to tell him about her fears. About how she hated the idea of becoming someone who just existed instead of lived. About how most days she wore a version of herself that made others comfortable.
But instead, she said, "I've always felt like there's a version of me I haven't met yet."
Jake looked at her like he saw that version. The real one. The raw, unfiltered Hriva.
And that gaze held her breath hostage.
They stayed on the rooftop until the city grew quiet, the kind of quiet that made every thought louder.
As Jake walked her to her car, there was a moment-one heartbeat long-where they stopped.
Their hands brushed.
He looked down. She looked up.
It would've been so easy to lean in.
So easy to close the space between them.
But instead, Jake whispered, "Goodnight, Hriva."
And stepped back.
Hriva watched him go, her fingers tingling where they had almost touched.
She sat in the car for a long time before driving away.
That night, both of them lay awake. Hearts full. Minds racing.
Because something was happening.
Something dangerous. Beautiful. Irresistible.
And neither of them wanted to stop it.