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Chapter Four: Rooftop Bonding
The door to the rooftop was heavier than Maya remembered. It groaned when she pushed against it, a long metallic sound that echoed into the night. For a second, she thought about letting it close again and walking back downstairs. Pretend she had never come. Pretend she didn't care.
But she did care. Too much. That was the problem.
When the door slammed shut behind her, the cold hit first. September nights weren't supposed to be this sharp, but the wind had teeth up here, tugging at her jacket and stinging her cheeks.
The second thing she noticed was that she wasn't alone.
Not Ezra. Thank God.
Rhea.
She sat on the edge of the railing like it was a park bench, as if fifty feet of empty air below didn't matter. Her legs swung lazily, sneakers scuffing against steel, phone glowing faint blue in her hand. The city spread behind her in neon and headlights, the kind of background you'd expect in a movie shot, not real life.
When she looked up and saw Maya, she grinned. "There you are. Took you long enough."
Maya froze halfway across the roof. "I—sorry. I wasn't sure if…" She trailed off, words falling apart.
"If you should come?" Rhea closed her phone, the glow snapping off. She leaned back on her hands, hair lifting in the wind. "I figured you'd chicken out."
Maya's face warmed, even in the chill. "I almost did."
"Why didn't you?"
Rhea asked it so directly, like she expected the truth. Not the polite lie Maya was ready to give. Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to move, crossing toward the railing. She stopped a couple feet away—close enough to share the view but far enough that she wouldn't be the one who fell if the railing gave out.
The city below was alive in ways the campus never was. Traffic hummed like blood through arteries, neon signs blinked, laughter spilled from somewhere unseen. Down there, people were living big, messy lives. Up here, it felt paused. Like the world had been reduced to just two girls on a rooftop.
Maya pulled her jacket tighter, more shield than warmth. "Guess I didn't want to waste the effort of climbing all those stairs."
Rhea laughed, low and quick. "You're terrible at lying."
Maya shot her a look. "I'm not lying."
"Sure," Rhea said, smile lingering. Then, softer, "You don't like crowds, do you?"
The observation cut too close. Maya glanced away. "Not really."
"You looked like you were gonna faint earlier when Ezra brought up the show."
"That obvious?"
Rhea hopped down from the railing in one smooth motion, landing lightly. "Don't worry. I'll keep you alive."
The words shouldn't have meant anything—probably didn't mean anything—but Maya's pulse jumped anyway. She swallowed hard. "You've known him a long time, then?"
"Ezra?" Rhea's mouth twisted into something between fondness and exasperation. "Yeah. Forever. He's… complicated."
"That's one word."
"Smokes too much. Pretends he doesn't care when he cares too much. Acts like he's made of stone but isn't." Rhea shrugged. "He's a cliché, honestly."
Maya surprised herself with a laugh. It came out awkward, but real. "And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You don't seem like a cliché."
Rhea's grin softened, almost shy, though it vanished quickly. "I'm the fun one. At least, that's what I try to be."
She stepped closer, shoulder brushing against Maya's as she leaned against the railing. The touch was casual, probably unintentional, but it sent a current through Maya's whole body. She tried not to move, tried not to let it show.
"You don't talk much either," Rhea said, tilting her head, studying her.
"I don't usually have much to say."
"Or," Rhea countered, "you're scared no one's listening."
The words hit like a dart straight to the center. Maya blinked at her, caught between denial and the sting of recognition.
"That's not—" she started, then stopped. Because it was.
Rhea didn't press. She just gave her this look, this knowing, gentle smile, like she wasn't judging, just seeing.
It was almost unbearable.
"Want to know a secret?" Rhea asked after a pause.
Maya nodded, throat dry.
Rhea leaned in. Close enough that Maya could smell her shampoo—citrus with something sharper, like rain on hot pavement. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Ezra only dared you because he thinks you'll say no. He likes being right about people. Don't give him the satisfaction."
Maya's heart stuttered. "So you're saying I should go?"
"I'm saying," Rhea murmured, eyes locked on hers, "sometimes the nights that scare you are the ones worth having."
The rooftop went very still. The city moved on below—sirens, laughter, a train's metallic scream—but none of it reached them. Maya felt suspended, caught between the railing and Rhea's gaze, between fear and something dangerously close to want.
She should look away. She didn't.
Rhea broke the moment first, straightening and glancing back at the skyline. "Besides," she said lightly, though her voice carried something underneath, "I already promised to keep you alive, didn't I?"
Maya let out a shaky laugh, clutching her jacket like it could anchor her. But her eyes stayed on Rhea. The way the wind toyed with her hair. The way the city lights burned brighter in her eyes than anywhere else.
For the first time since coming here, Maya wasn't thinking about how invisible she felt. She wasn't thinking about home, or being small, or being out of place.
She was thinking about Rhea.
And that terrified her even more than Ezra's dare.