“No,” he laughed. “I come here to smoke. I live in the apartment below. Can’t smoke inside. My cat doesn’t like it.”
“Cat?” I laughed harder than I meant to, a short snort escaping me.
“Easy,” he said. “I don’t want you dropping dead by accident.”
“You have a cat,” I smiled.
“Yep,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Ginger.”
“Is that her name or her color?”
“Both,” he replied, exhaling smoke.
“How original,” I chuckled.
I shifted my position, swinging my legs back onto the rooftop and hopping down, leaning against the wall instead.
“Very,” he said, releasing another cloud of smoke.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“If I tell you,” he said, his tone suddenly more serious, “I’d have to kill you.”
“Well,” I said, “we wouldn’t want that.”
I started walking slowly, still unable to see his face through the harsh light flooding my eyes.
“And yours?” he asked.
“Yellow,” I said, giggling as I lifted a strand of my blond hair.
“Good one,” he said. “Good night, Yellow.”
“Good night,” I replied, opening the door. As I started down the stairs, I noticed he stayed where he was.
I guess this was not the part where the guy follows you and the night turns into a date, like something out of a John Hughesmovie. He was just a stranger on a rooftop. And not every fantasy we create is real. Most of them are not.
I let out a slow breath as I went down, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. My fingers brushed against the fabric, then stopped.
Paper.
The speech. Or not really a speech. Just three words I had written.
I must have dropped it on the rooftop.
I paused.
I didn’t want to follow him, nor go back up.
In the end, it was just paper with words. So I left the building and texted my friend Mia that I had already left.
Present day
My phone buzzes.
I am stretched across the sofa, one leg hooked over the backrest, the other slipping off the edge until my foot brushes the floor. My glasses sit crooked on my nose. When I open myeyes, my lips smack together, and I feel it. Drool has slipped past them.
My eyes fly open.
