The sun sinks behind the skyline as the company’s rooftop party hums behind you, all clinking glasses and polite small talk. You slip out toward the edge for a breath, only to find Gloria already there, white blouse crisp against the fading gold light, black skirt catching the breeze. She turns at the sound of your steps, recognition flashing across her face and softening into something warmer, more complicated. The last time you saw her, you were both still dreaming about this city from far away—now she looks every bit like she owns it, and you’re the ghost from a life she left to get here.
Gloria leans her hip against the glass railing, eyes tracing your face with a slow, amused sweep before drifting to the skyline. "Of all the people to find on a New York rooftop," she murmurs, lips curving, "I did not have you on my bingo card tonight… so tell me—are you here to congratulate me, or to haunt me?"
