The sky stretched above the city like a vast, bruised canvas — deep purples bleeding into the soft twilight blues, the last remnants of the sun's warmth fading behind the distant skyline. A cool breeze whispered through the rooftop garden, rustling leaves and carrying the faint scent of wet earth and jasmine. This was the place where the city touched the sky, a hidden refuge far from the noise below.
Liora's fingers curled tightly around the fragile note tucked in her pocket, the delicate paper crumpled but precious. The message echoed in her mind, its words both a challenge and a promise: Find me where the city touches the sky. Tonight, 7 pm.
She had paced her small apartment for hours, the minutes stretching longer than they should have, weighed down by a mixture of anticipation and dread. What if this was a mistake? What if she was chasing shadows where there was nothing but silence? Yet the pull of the unknown was stronger than her fears — an ache deep inside that refused to be ignored.
With each step up the narrow metal staircase to the rooftop, her heart hammered louder, threatening to drown out the steady rhythm of the city below. The air grew cooler as she emerged into the open space, a small garden tucked atop the aging building. Potted plants clustered around weathered benches, their leaves glistening from the evening's rain. Twinkling fairy lights were strung overhead, their soft glow casting delicate patterns on the stone tiles.
And there, near the edge, stood a figure — slender, poised, framed by the fading light and the deepening shadows. The silhouette was still, almost statuesque, as if part of the garden itself.
Liora's breath caught in her throat.
The woman turned slowly, as if sensing her presence, and their eyes met across the space between them. In that instant, time seemed to tilt and shift — the city's distant hum faded into silence, and the world contracted to the fragile thread binding their gazes.
Her eyes were like secrets, deep pools reflecting both storm and calm, a wildness tempered by something softer beneath the surface. The stranger's dark hair caught the last rays of light, falling in gentle waves around a face carved with quiet strength and mystery. When her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, it was as if she held a thousand unspoken stories — some heartbreaking, others filled with hope.
Liora stepped forward hesitantly, the crunch of gravel beneath her shoes the only sound breaking the stillness. The stranger's gaze didn't waver; instead, it softened, inviting yet cautious.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," the woman said, voice low and warm, a whisper that seemed to wrap itself around Liora's heart.
"I didn't know what to expect," Liora admitted, the words trembling out before she could stop them. "I only knew I couldn't ignore the note."
The stranger nodded, her eyes flickering with something almost like relief. "Sometimes, the language of flowers says what words cannot. It's a language I've learned to speak, though it's not always easy to hear."
Liora glanced down at the small bouquet resting beside the woman's feet — forget-me-nots, lilies, and sprigs of lavender, each bloom heavy with meaning. She swallowed, the weight of their symbolism settling like a quiet ache.
"Why me?" Liora asked, her voice barely above a breath.
"Because you listen," the stranger replied simply. "Because you understand what it means to carry silence inside you."
A silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken truths and fragile possibilities. Liora felt the walls she had built around herself begin to tremble, cracks forming where doubt and hope intertwined.
For a moment, she wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap between fear and trust. But instead, she simply stood there, letting the night enfold them both, the city lights twinkling far below like distant stars.
Somewhere in the quiet between them, a story was beginning — one written not in letters, but in the subtle, sacred langua
ge of goodbyes and new beginnings.