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The bustling room fell into a sudden hush as her gaze landed on the familiar figure standing just a few feet away. His hands were clasped in front of him as he conversed with a high-ranking officer. She could hardly believe her eyes; he looked as if not a day had passed, let alone years. Her champagne flute nearly slipped from her fingers in disbelief.
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing the inked patterns adorning his forearms—patterns she used to trace with her fingertips during lazy evenings spent together on a friend's cramped couch, watching trash TV. The couch was too small for them both, but she never minded. Johnny would jest about Simon hogging the space, but she relished in the closeness, often snuggling up against him. It was a subtle intimacy Simon never admitted to craving but always orchestrated nonetheless, silently longing for her presence without daring to ask.
When Simon's gaze met hers, time seemed to stand still. His posture slackened, his attention drifting away from the officer's words, lost in the depths of her eyes. Neither of them had expected to cross paths again, yet their hearts clung to a flicker of hope.
A careless bump to her shoulder snapped her back to reality, the apologetic murmur going unheard as she hurried to the terrace, seeking solace from the crowded room. The buzz of conversation was replaced by the distant hum of the city below, its skyline painted in the hues of the setting sun. Towering skyscrapers stretched toward the orange-streaked heavens, their glass exteriors mirroring the vibrant skyline. A river of red taillights flowed through the streets, akin to blood coursing through veins. Despite the time she'd spent there, the city remained an enigma she now called home.
Placing her half-empty glass on the parapet, she rummaged through her purse until her fingers found the familiar rectangular package. Retrieving a cigarette, she continued her search for the lighter, tapping it against the marble balustrade before lighting up. Shielding the flame from the wind with her left hand, she inhaled deeply, the smoke filling her lungs with a biting tang before escaping through her nostrils. The breeze teased the fabric of her white dress, sending shivers down her spine.
Footsteps approached from behind, coming to a halt beside her. There was the unmistakable click of a lighter, then another. She extended her arm, the flame of her lighter already dancing in the breeze. "I thought you quit," she murmured after exhaling a plume of smoke.
Simon chuckled softly, stepping closer to the balustrade and leaning against it, his elbows resting on the cool stone. He stood beside her, their shoulders almost touching. "I'm too tired to care about how I die at this point," he confessed with a weary smile.
She kept her gaze fixed ahead, unable to tear her eyes away from him. "You've always been tired," her response elicited a smile from him as he breathed in the smoke, his eyes shut briefly, though the smile faded quickly.
"Your coffee did wonders," Simon remarked, exhaling a puff of smoke.
She stayed silent, taking a deep drag. It felt surreal being near him after so long, having seen him so frequently in her dreams but never in her room.
Simon turned around, his back against the sky now. "What happened to your hair?" he asked, his eyes studying her face intently.
"I stopped coloring it every few months," she replied.
He frowned, tilting his head slightly. "Why?"
She shrugged, her gaze fixed on the glowing cherry of her cigarette. "It looks more professional."
Simon scoffed, disbelief evident in his voice. That didn’t seem like the woman he knew. "Since when do you care about others’ opinions?"
"I’m too exhausted to antagonize people," she said with a tone tinged with resignation, a lingering aura of defeat clinging to her words.
He glanced at the violet sky. "You're into champagne now?" His gaze fell on the glass nearby, the bubbles long gone.
A distant memory played in her mind, of past summers spent on a military base rooftop during early evenings.
"They were out of diet coke."
Moments passed quietly, only a few drags left in her cigarette as the sky gradually darkened. She finally turned to face him fully, her gaze no longer avoiding his. She chuckled bitterly, unable to prevent her eyes from softening at the sight of him. "We're just like everyone else now, aren't we?" The hesitation was gone, replaced by fear.
"Who?" he asked.
"Everyone else."
Simon's expression turned serious. "I never asked you pointless questions like how you are, what you're up to... did I?"
The woman sighed, locking eyes with him, waiting for him to deceive her. "Because you don't care?"
"Because that's what strangers do. You'll never be a stranger to me," he said earnestly. It pained her to realize she couldn’t bring herself to hate him, nor could she find solace in resentment. He lacked the capacity to make her hate him, though it would have eased her burden. You can’t mourn something you didn’t desire. But she did, every fiber of her being yearned for him.
Her gaze dropped to the city below. "This city... it makes you feel insignificant, doesn't it?" Her words were an attempt to stifle the falling tree, to evacuate the forest so that no one would hear, even if it happened.
But the impact was deafening, echoing inside her like a cavernous reverberation. "I never told you how you made me feel," Simon's voice suddenly softer than the breeze on their faces.
"You didn't," she agreed. "I suppose that's what should have filled all those silences when we gazed at the stars from that rooftop every night?"
"We weren't always silent," he countered.
"No, but our hesitations spoke volumes."
Simon nodded, averting his gaze. "Is it sad to think that we'll never be more than this?" he asked.
She didn’t hesitate. "Immensely."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, his hand on the railing twitched, fingers almost reaching out to touch hers.
"Simon, are you coming, honey?" a voice called out, a woman in a scarlet dress standing at the glass entrance, his coat draped over her arm.
That’s when her eyes caught sight of the wedding band on his left hand. His cigarette now a mere stub. His attention turned to the woman in red, his voice husky. "Yes, darling."
He glanced back once more, watching her finish her champagne.
"So, how have you been?" she asked, flicking the cigarette butt into the abyss below.
His eyes softened, his head bowed slightly. "Good, and you?"
She smiled softly, her gaze falling on the silver chain around his neck, her initial still engraved on the pendant resting against his chest. "All good."