The wind was gentle that afternoon.
Not enough to shake the trees,
But enough to stir something inside her chest.
Like fingers flipping through memories—
pages no one had asked to read.
But now, she wanted to.
Saanvi climbed the stairs to the rooftop again.
The rusted railings brushed her fingertips as she ascended, each step echoing louder than it should have in the still corridor.
This time—on purpose.
No excuse.
No pretending to be lost.
No lies about "needing fresh air."
She came for him.
---
The rooftop was the same, yet it felt different somehow.
Less like an escape.
More like a place that had been waiting.
The sky was pale blue with streaks of gold weaving through the clouds.
The sun, half-asleep in the western horizon, cast soft shadows across the concrete.
And there he was.
Jisoo.
Skating slow, wide arcs across the rooftop square, like he'd traced this space a hundred times.
His hoodie—gone.
Just a plain black t-shirt now, sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing faint bruises and scabs, like quiet battle scars.
His hair was messier today. Or maybe the wind liked playing with it more.
She stepped into his line of sight.
His board came to a stop.
He kicked it up with a practiced snap, catching it with one hand.
No grin.
No frown.
Just a stillness in his eyes, like he had expected her all along.
"You came," he said, his voice steady but soft.
"I brought something," Saanvi replied, holding up the folded sketch like a quiet offering.
He looked at it—but didn't move.
Didn't reach.
Didn't react like someone seeing a lost part of himself.
Just nodded. Once. Like he'd already made peace with its existence.
"You kept it," he murmured.
"I… forgot it," she admitted, voice barely above the wind. "And that hurts more."
There was a flicker in his expression—
Not anger.
Not disappointment.
Just something like recognition.
Jisoo walked over and leaned his skateboard against the railing.
His fingers lingered on it for a second too long, like he needed a moment to settle the thoughts gathering in his chest.
"It's okay," he said.
"I tried to forget you too."
The air between them pulled tight.
A breath passed.
A beat.
"But I never could."
---
They didn't speak after that.
For a while, silence stretched out across the rooftop.
Comfortable. Not awkward.
Like the quiet between notes in a song—meant to be there.
Down below, the city buzzed in the soft golden hour.
The hum of scooters.
A bark.
Laughter echoing from an open window somewhere.
Up here, they were untouched by all of it.
Just two people
with scraped pasts
and unspoken memories
floating somewhere in the sky between them.
Then Jisoo turned toward her.
That half-smile—the crooked one she remembered from years ago—tilted at the corner of his mouth.
"Wanna try again?" he asked, nudging his head toward the board.
Saanvi raised an eyebrow. "You mean fall again?"
"Maybe not this time," he shrugged.
She smirked. "Sounds like a trap."
"Could be," he said. "Could also be muscle memory."
"From what? Pain?"
He chuckled.
She laughed too. And nodded.
"Alright. Let's fall prettier this time."
---
Ten minutes later, her hands were scraped again.
Her balance was trash.
Her stance—wobbly.
Every push felt like inviting gravity to an arm-wrestling match she had no chance of winning.
And still—
She was laughing.
Jisoo stood behind her, guiding her hands, adjusting her feet with patient nudges.
"Feet sideways. Right one forward. Relax your shoulders."
"Easier said than done when death is literally under my shoes."
"It's not death," he replied with a grin. "It's motion."
"Same thing."
He laughed. That rare, real laugh that tilted his head back slightly and crinkled his eyes.
They tried again.
And again.
She slipped.
Cursed.
Stumbled.
Nearly dragged him down with her twice.
And still—
Every time she tripped,
He was already there.
A steady hand.
A quiet breath.
A low whisper of, "Again."
---
The sky dimmed.
The rooftop slowly turned orange and lavender.
Their shadows stretched longer.
Their voices softer.
By sunset, they sat on the rooftop ledge, legs dangling into the cooling wind.
Below them, Seoul twinkled awake.
Saanvi had a bandage across her palm, her hair stuck to her forehead from sweat.
Her knees bore tiny bruises blooming like abstract art.
Jisoo handed her a water bottle.
She sipped.
Then asked quietly, "Why do you skate alone?"
He didn't answer right away.
Just looked out over the edge, eyes tracking the skyline.
She watched the way the last sliver of sunlight kissed the scar on his elbow.
Then, softly:
"Because it reminds me of when things didn't feel heavy."
She turned to him.
"And now?"
He didn't meet her gaze.
But his shoulder leaned into hers.
Deliberately.
Not a mistake.
Not a stumble.
A choice.
"Lately…" he whispered, "it feels lighter."
---
Buzz.
Their phones vibrated in unison.
They both glanced down.
The same notification.
____________•••____________
One Plus
You are one plus away from a truth hidden between bruises and balance.
____________•••____________
Saanvi exhaled through a grin.
Small. Genuine.
"I think I'm starting to like this app," she said.
Jisoo turned toward her.
Not with shock.
Not even surprise.
Just a quiet understanding.
Like she'd finally said something
he'd waited
years
to hear.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.
The wind did it for him—
gentle as a hand in her hair,
gentler than memory,
pulling them both toward something neither of them knew how to name.