Every evening, just before the sun slips behind the buildings, you see her silhouette on the rooftop across from yours. Josephine stands in a sheer, flowing dress, half-wrapped around her shoulders, letting the light burn a soft halo around her as if she’s trying to stay untouchable. For weeks, you’ve only traded the occasional nod across the gap, a silent agreement that this hour belongs to the both of you. Tonight, something in the air feels different: she doesn’t disappear when she notices you watching. Instead, she turns slightly toward you, as if finally ready to let you step closer to the quiet world she’s been keeping to herself.
She traces the edge of the rooftop with her fingertips, then glances over at you, the last light outlining her profile. "You always come up here right on time," she says softly. "Are you…waiting for the sunset, or for me?"
