The rooftop was Luna's kingdom.
Every evening, when the sun melted into strokes of crimson and violet, she would climb past the squeaky metal stairs of the old university building, balancing a sketchpad and a set of half-used pencils. It wasn't the prettiest rooftop—concrete cracks, peeling paint, and the faint scent of rust—but to her, it was the only place in Manila where the world felt quiet.
People liked to say that Luna was "weird." Not the dangerous kind, not even the eccentric kind. Just… odd. She preferred staring at skies instead of selfies, and sketching strangers instead of chatting with them. Her classmates thought she was aloof. But the truth was, Luna had too many words in her chest, and none of them ever came out right.
So she drew them instead.
That evening, as the city buzzed with traffic below, Luna's pencil moved swiftly across her pad. She was drawing the skyline again—buildings etched like crooked teeth against the horizon, each window a glowing ember of somebody else's life.
But then—
"You're not supposed to be here."
The voice startled her so much she nearly snapped her pencil in half.
She turned.
There, leaning against the metal railing, was a girl she had never seen before. The girl had a presence that didn't belong in ordinary life—like she had stepped out of a stage play and into reality. Shoulder-length hair caught the last rays of sun, shimmering faintly gold at the edges. Her eyes… Luna couldn't decide if they were mocking or curious, but they looked directly at her, piercing in a way that made her throat dry.
"I—I always come here," Luna stammered. "No one minds."
The girl smirked, tilting her head. "Well, I mind. I claimed this rooftop first."
Luna blinked, confused. "That's impossible. I've been coming here for months."
"Then we have a problem," the girl replied casually, walking closer. Her steps echoed against the cement floor. "Because this is my spot too."
Luna hugged her sketchpad tightly, unsure whether to laugh or argue. She wasn't used to people barging into her solitude. But there was something about this girl—something magnetic—that made her pulse skip.
Finally, Luna asked, "Who… are you?"
The girl grinned, like she'd been waiting for the question.
"Iris."
The name rolled off her tongue with confidence, as if it were a melody she'd sung countless times.
Luna said nothing, simply nodding. But inside her head, her thoughts were chaos. Iris. Even the name sounded like a painting.
"You draw?" Iris asked, pointing at the pad Luna clutched to her chest.
"It's nothing." Luna tried to hide it, but Iris was already reaching forward with bold curiosity.
Before Luna could protest, Iris had taken the pad and flipped it open. Her brows arched slightly as she looked at the sketches—cityscapes, shadows, and, embarrassingly, random profiles of classmates Luna had secretly drawn.
"These are… good." Iris' voice softened, surprising Luna. "You see things differently."
Heat rushed to Luna's cheeks. She wanted to snatch the pad back, but Iris held it like it was treasure. "Stop looking," Luna mumbled.
But Iris only laughed, handing it back. "You're shy. Cute."
Luna nearly choked. "I—I'm not—"
"Yes, you are," Iris said firmly, as if deciding a fact. Then she leaned against the railing again, staring at the horizon. "You know, people spend their whole lives looking at the city, but not everyone bothers to see it. Maybe that's your gift."
For the first time that evening, silence settled—not awkward, but heavy with something unspoken.
Just before leaving, Iris says something mysterious:
"I like this rooftop too," Iris said as she walked toward the exit. "It's the only place they can't find me."
Luna frowned. "Who?"
Iris looked over her shoulder, her eyes glinting with something sharp, almost dangerous.
"You'll know… eventually."
Then she disappeared down the stairs, leaving Luna with a sketchpad full of unfinished lines and a heart racing for reasons she couldn't understand.
Luna sat frozen long after Iris vanished down the rusty stairwell. Her heartbeat was still too fast, too loud, as if the entire city below might hear it.
What did she mean—"they can't find me"?
The words clung to Luna's thoughts like paint that refused to dry. She wanted to brush them off, to pretend Iris was just being dramatic. But something in the girl's tone didn't sound like a joke. It sounded… dangerous.
She shook her head, trying to focus on her sketchpad. The page was half-finished: a crooked horizon line, towers fading into blur. She raised her pencil, but her hand refused to move. Every stroke she attempted seemed to shape Iris' silhouette—the curve of her smirk, the sharp glint in her eyes.
"Ugh," Luna groaned softly, closing the pad. It was useless.
That night, she went home with a restless mind.
The next day, Luna thought she might never see Iris again. After all, the university was enormous, and Luna's circle was small enough to fit inside a pocket. She attended her Fine Arts classes, ate alone at the cafeteria, and quietly slipped through the crowded halls like a shadow.
But fate had other plans.
She was on her way to the library when a sudden burst of laughter echoed from the courtyard. Curious, Luna glanced over—and there she was.
Iris.
Not on a rooftop this time, but on the ground, surrounded by people. A group of students hung around her, clearly enamored. Iris was talking animatedly, her hands painting the air with every word. Whatever story she was telling had the crowd roaring with laughter.
Luna stopped in her tracks.
It was jarring, seeing Iris in broad daylight, in the center of attention. On the rooftop, Iris had felt like a secret—someone carved out of shadow and sunset. Here, she was dazzling, magnetic, like gravity itself bent toward her.
And then—almost as if sensing the weight of Luna's stare—Iris' gaze flicked across the crowd and landed on her.
For a split second, the world quieted.
Iris' lips curled into a small, knowing smile. Not the broad, playful grin she wore for everyone else. This one was sharper, private, almost intimate.
Luna's throat tightened. She turned quickly, nearly bumping into a passing student, and hurried into the library.
But the image of that smile followed her like a ghost.
That evening, Luna climbed the rooftop again, half-expecting Iris wouldn't come. She tried convincing herself she wanted the solitude back. That the peace of watching stars was better without distractions.
Yet…
When she pushed open the metal door, Iris was already there.
Sitting casually on the railing, legs dangling over the edge like she wasn't afraid of falling. She looked up as if she'd been waiting.
"You're late," Iris said.
Luna blinked. "Late? This isn't a class."
"Still. The sunset's prettier when shared."
Luna's chest tightened at the simplicity of the words. She didn't know how to respond, so she just set her sketchpad down and sat on the floor.
For a while, they said nothing. The city lights blinked awake one by one, turning the skyline into a mosaic of gold and silver.
Finally, Iris broke the silence. "So, Luna, right?"
Luna froze. "H-how do you know my name?"
Iris smirked. "You left your ID sticking out of your bag yesterday. I'm not a stalker, promise."
Luna wasn't sure if she believed that.
Still, Iris saying her name out loud made her heart stumble. Nobody said her name like that—soft but deliberate, like it carried meaning.
"Why do you always come up here?" Iris asked, leaning back against the railing.
"To draw," Luna answered simply.
"That's it?"
Luna hesitated. "And… to breathe. Down there, it feels like I don't fit anywhere. Up here, it's easier to exist."
Iris tilted her head, studying her. "You talk like someone who wants to disappear."
The words hit too close. Luna hugged her knees, suddenly defensive. "What about you? Why are you here?"
For the first time, Iris didn't answer immediately. She looked away, gaze fixed on the farthest horizon. Her smirk faltered, replaced by something unreadable.
Finally, she whispered, "Because I don't want to be found."
Luna's breath caught. The same words as yesterday, but heavier.
Before Luna could ask more, Iris suddenly stood, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. Her grin returned, though thinner than before.
"Anyway. If we're both claiming this rooftop, we might as well share it." She held out her hand. "Truce?"
Luna stared at the offered hand, hesitation warring with curiosity. Slowly, she reached out and took it.
Iris' grip was warm, firm, lingering just a moment too long.
Something inside Luna shifted, an unspoken click, like a puzzle piece falling into place.
That night, when Luna returned to her dorm, she opened her sketchpad again.
But instead of cityscapes or buildings, her pencil betrayed her. Line by line, curve by curve—
She was drawing Iris.
Her smile. Her eyes. The way her hair caught the light.
And in the silence of her small room, Luna realized something that terrified her more than loneliness ever had.
She wanted to see Iris again.