The city burned a bright orange every evening, but today it felt different.
She and I stood side by side on the quiet overpass, watching the sun sink behind a skyline that looked almost too perfect to be real. Buildings stretched like silent giants, their windows catching fire in the last light of day. Cars rushed below, but up here, time slowed.
“I used to think,” I said, “that if I reached the top of the city, everything would make sense.”
She let out a soft breath. “And?”
The wind tugged gently at our clothes.
“It doesn’t.”
Silence settled between us, not awkward—just honest.
We had come here for answers. Or maybe just the end. It was hard to tell anymore.
“Then why does it still feel like something’s waiting?” she asked.
I glanced sideways at her, just for a second. “Because maybe… it is.”
The sun dipped lower, spilling its last light across the horizon like a promise it wasn’t sure it could keep. Our shadows stretched long behind us, merging together on the pavement.
“Do you regret it?” she asked quietly.
Another pause. Longer this time.
“No,” I said. “I think I’d regret not coming here more.”
The city lights flickered to life one by one, like stars trying to compete with the sky. The moment was slipping away, but neither of us moved.
“Tomorrow,” I said, almost testing the word.
“Tomorrow,” she repeated.
And just like that, it didn’t feel so distant anymore.
We stayed there until the last trace of sunlight vanished. Two shadows against a glowing world, willing to wait for it together.
