The golden-orange sky melted slowly into shades of muted lilac. The sun was retreating behind the rooftops of Tokyo, taking with it the last of the day's warmth.
Arohi stepped out of the metro, adjusting the straps of her tote bag. She'd had a long day. Three back-to-back presentations, a last-minute meeting, and a spilled coffee that still stained her sleeve. But somehow, she walked home with a skip in her step.
She looked forward to the quiet. The familiar hallway. And maybe, if luck was kind, a surprise knock on her door from Natsuo with a new song to share or an odd kombini snack they could laugh about.
But as she turned into the corridor, something was off.
His door was shut. Lights out. No low hum of music from his speakers. No soft piano drifting through the walls.
Odd.
She slowed her pace, hesitating in front of his apartment. It was just 6:30 p.m. Not exactly "deep work" hours for him. And he hadn't texted her all day—which was also rare.
"Maybe he's working," she whispered to herself and unlocked her own door.
But unease had already slipped in, quiet and uninvited.
By 7:30, the silence lingered. She cooked herself some coconut milk rice noodles—her attempt at making something like idiyappam, but Tokyo-style. It was warm, nostalgic, and she was excited to share this strange hybrid with him.
Except… she couldn't finish her plate.
Something about the quiet across the hallway was wrong.
She tried calling him.
No response.
Tried again. Nothing.
By the third call, she was pacing. His phone rang from inside his apartment—she could hear the muffled sound from the other side of the wall.
Her heart raced. He's home?
She dropped her plate in the sink and grabbed her hoodie.
Downstairs, she checked with the landlord's assistant, the old woman who sat knitting in the front porch. "Have you seen the boy from 4B?"
The lady shook her head. "Not since morning, dear."
She asked a delivery guy, a woman walking her dog, and even the kid who lived next door. No one had seen Natsuo.
Finally, tired and worried, she slumped in front of her apartment door, back against the cool wall.
Her phone buzzed—another work message. She ignored it. Her eyes kept going to his door.
Just then, the kid from next door—Riku, about 8, with hair sticking up in all directions—ran up the stairs.
"Hey, sis!" he beamed. "You looking for Natsuo-nii?"
She sat up. "Yeah! Have you seen him?"
"Uhm... I think I saw him go to the terrace when I went down to play an hour ago."
Without a word, Arohi stood and bolted upstairs.
The rooftop was nearly empty, quiet except for the hum of the city below. The breeze was gentle, lifting strands of her hair.
And there he was.
Natsuo sat on the far edge, leaning back on his palms, staring into the dying light. His usually perfect posture was gone. He slouched, drained. His hair was messier than usual, eyes dull. The rim of his glasses had slipped low on his nose.
Arohi approached slowly, quietly, and sat beside him without a word.
"I didn't mean to ignore you," he said softly, after a minute. "Just didn't feel like being anyone tonight."
She looked at him. His voice was low. Broken.
"What happened?" she asked.
He hesitated, then chuckled bitterly. "I messed up a track. Deleted something important accidentally. Couldn't even recover the layers. It was one of the best things I'd composed in weeks."
She listened.
"And then," he sighed, "My mom called. You'd think after five years, her tone would soften. But no—'Are you still wasting time with that music nonsense? When are you going to stop embarrassing us and do something real?'"
Arohi swallowed.
"She always knew how to cut in the right places," he added.
"And your dad?"
"Doesn't even speak unless it's to criticize. He told me I was being selfish. That our family name—years of hard work—was going to be reduced to a... an 'Instagram sound engineer'."
She didn't know what to say. So she just looked at him.
"And then there's my brother. Golden boy. Top scorer. Two degrees. Interns with a judge and still finds time to agree with everything they say. He says he supports me—but always adds, 'as long as it doesn't affect the family'."
A pause.
"I left home after a fight three years ago. Haven't been back since. They still send money sometimes, but only because they don't want me begging. It's always conditional."
He looked down at his hands, fingers curling inward.
"Some days, I think I should just... give in. Study something, go back. Do what they want. Maybe then I'll stop feeling like I'm... failing them."
Arohi exhaled slowly, then finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "My parents... they never really needed a reason to be cruel. I didn't even leave the house until a month ago. Was always there. Just not really seen."
Natsuo turned to her, surprised.
"They praise my sister like she walks on stars. But me? Everything I do is wrong. Every decision questioned. Every word picked apart until I don't even remember what I meant. My mom—she's the queen of guilt trips. And my dad... he doesn't shout, but somehow, the silence cuts worse."
A silence fell between them. Familiar. Heavy.
He whispered, "You didn't have to come up here, you know. You could've just... rested at home. I'll be fine on my own."
She turned her head sharply, meeting his gaze. "If it was me sitting here, sulking… would you let me be alone?"
He didn't answer right away.
Her voice softened. "Exactly."
A tiny smile broke through his tired face.
She looked up at the darkening sky, trying to lighten the air. "You know, I made something weird for dinner. Coconut milk rice noodles. It tasted like a sweet version of idiyappam, a indian cuisine. Want to try it?"
He blinked, startled. "Now?"
She stood up, offering a hand. "Yes, now. Come on, sulker. You need to be rehydrated and mildly confused by flavour."
He took her hand.
They sat cross-legged in her apartment, eating the sweet noodles cold from a pot. It was comforting in a strange, chaotic way.
"It's... weird," Natsuo said between bites.
"Good weird or vomit weird?"
He considered. "Good weird. Feels like what a Japanese ojiisan would serve if he got lost in south india for a week."
She laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment."
He leaned back, watching her tidy up the plates. "Thanks, Arohi. I didn't expect anyone to notice today."
She shrugged, sitting across from him again with two UNO decks in hand. "After all, friends help each other, don't they?"
He nodded, then added with a small smile, "Though I'm warning you, I take UNO very seriously."
"Oh please," she grinned, dealing the cards. "You don't even know the chaos I bring to a reverse card."
One game turned into three. Then five. They forgot about the time, about the calls, the messages, the noise of the world outside their little bubble.
At 1:00 a.m., Natsuo yawned dramatically. "Alright. I admit defeat. You are the UNO queen."
She stood and did a victory twirl. "Thank you, thank you. I'd like to thank emotional breakdowns and coconut noodles for this win."
They both laughed—genuine, easy.
As he got up to leave, he paused at the doorway.
She looked up from gathering the cards. "What?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just... thanks. For being on my side. Even when I wasn't."
Arohi smiled gently. "I get it. Some days are too heavy to carry alone."
A moment passed.
Then she made a face. "Also, we should probably get inside before ghosts possess us. It's past midnight and this apartment definitely looks like it has haunted plumbing."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You've officially watched too many horror movies."
She grinned. "No such thing."
He stepped outside.
"Goodnight, Arohi."
"Night, Natsuo."
The door shut gently behind him.
And in the quiet that followed, Arohi let herself smile—soft, knowing.
Even the loneliest rooftops weren't so lonely anymore.