Slipping Tides

The morning after the café, Amara woke to a sky caught between rain and restraint, mirroring her hesitation, the mist clinging to the city like a hesitant confession. It wrapped around rooftops and softened the edges of the world, a gray veil that matched the knot in her chest. She stretched, her limbs sluggish, as if sleep had only deepened the weight of last night's words—*Then I'll wait a little longer*. She wasn't sure what unnerved her more: the patience in Noah's voice or the possibility that she wanted him to wait.

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Noah: Are you free tonight?

A flicker of something sharp ran through her—anticipation laced with apprehension. She hesitated before replying.

Amara:Depends. What's the plan?

Noah: Ever seen the city from above? Thought it might mean something.

She frowned, intrigued. Amara: You taking me to a rooftop bar? That's painfully predictable.

Noah: No bar. Just a view. Trust me?

Her pulse skipped, an involuntary reaction. The word trust clung to the screen like an open door, daring her to step through. She exhaled slowly, the mist pressing against her window, then typed back.

Amara: I'll meet you at seven.

---

She arrived at the address he'd sent, standing at the base of a building that had weathered decades. It wasn't sleek like the high-rises she associated with city views—it was old, its bricks cracked, its fire escape clinging stubbornly to its side. She looked up, finding Noah leaning casually against the entrance, hands in his pockets.

"Thought you might bail," he said as she approached.

She smirked, tilting her head. "And miss whatever grand revelation this is?"

He chuckled. "Come on."

They slipped through a side door, into a stairwell that smelled of rust and rain-soaked concrete, the chill seeping through her coat. Noah led the way, his footsteps steady against the metal grates, and Amara followed, her breath shallow as they climbed. When they reached the rooftop, he pushed open the door, and the city unfolded before them.

It wasn't the glossy skyline from postcards. This was different—quieter. The rooftops stretched in uneven layers, some crowned with neon signs, others bare but for rusted vents and forgotten chimneys. The streets pulsed below, headlights weaving like scattered fireflies. The sky hung heavy above, thick with clouds that swallowed the last hints of twilight. The chill of the metal ledge bit into her palms as she gripped it.

Noah leaned against the ledge, gesturing. "See that?"

She followed his gaze. In the distance, beyond the clusters of steel and glass, a bridge arched over the river, its lights reflecting in the dark water below. The sight was simple, but something about it felt… still.

"This was the first place I came to when I thought about leaving," he murmured. "Every time I convinced myself to go, I ended up here instead."

Amara glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Why?"

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I guess I wanted to know what it would feel like to see the city from the outside. To stand on the edge of it and decide if I could walk away. There was this one project—my first big one. I poured everything into it, and it collapsed, literally. Took months to rebuild, and I came here every night, staring out, figuring out if I should quit."

"And?"

He turned to her then, his gaze steady. "And I never could. Something always pulled me back."

Something inside her tightened—familiar, like lingering in thresholds, standing at the edge of change and wondering if stepping forward would unravel everything. Her heart stuttered at the weight of his words.

Silence settled between them, stretching into something neither of them rushed to fill. The air was thick, charged, but not uncomfortable. Then, without thinking, Amara reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his wrist. The contact was fleeting, but Noah's breath hitched, just barely—a quiet ripple in the stillness.

A choice hovered between them—unspoken but tangible.

Noah didn't move away. If anything, he leaned in just enough to let her know he was there, waiting. Not pushing, not demanding. Just waiting.

Amara swallowed, then let her hand fall away. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But the warmth of that almost stayed with her, a ghost against her skin.

She turned back to the city, her voice quieter now. "It's a good view."

Noah nodded, his gaze lingering on her before shifting back to the horizon. "Yeah. It is."

The mist thickened, curling around them like a whisper, like a secret neither of them were ready to say out loud, the coolness wrapping around her skin.

—-