Whispers on the Rooftop
Lena sat on the rooftop’s ledge, her legs dangling over the edge as she watched the world below. The cat, whom she had named Rufus, curled beside her, his tail flicking lazily as he purred. It had been two months since she found him up here, trapped between forgotten flowerpots and a rusted metal railing. He had been a scrawny, shivering thing, his fur matted with rain and dust. Now, he was plump, confident, and—Lena liked to think—happy.
She hadn’t planned to stay in this city for long. When she arrived six months ago, she was running—running from a past that clung to her like an old scar, from the echoes of a love that had shattered, from a home that no longer felt like one. She had promised herself she’d be gone before she had the chance to grow roots. But then, there was the rooftop. Then, there was Rufus.
Tonight, like every night, she let the cool air wash over her, listened to the distant hum of life below, and let herself breathe.
And then—something different.
A voice.
Soft, hesitant. "You always come up here."
Lena turned sharply. Near the rooftop door, a man stood, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of a worn-out hoodie. He was young, maybe around her age, with dark curls that tumbled over his forehead and eyes that held something between curiosity and knowing.
She blinked at him, unsure whether to be startled or amused.
"And you always watch," she said finally.
A slow smile played at his lips. "Guilty."
He walked closer, settling a respectful distance away. "I'm Ezra. I live in 3B."
"You're the one with the loud guitar."
"And you're the one who feeds the stray cat on the roof." He nodded toward Rufus, who had now stretched, arching his back before trotting over to sniff at Ezra’s shoes.
Lena exhaled a small laugh. "Guilty."
A pause. Comfortable. The wind stirred between them, and for the first time in a long time, she felt something she hadn't allowed herself to feel.
Something like belonging.
Lena watched as Rufus circled Ezra’s feet, rubbing his cheek against the man’s worn sneakers. Rufus was selective with people, and Lena had never seen him warm up to anyone so quickly.
"He likes you," she mused, crossing her arms.
Ezra shrugged, setting his coffee cup down on the rooftop ledge. "Maybe he just knows we’re the same."
Lena raised an eyebrow. "Same how?"
"We both like high places." He gestured vaguely to the sky. "You ever feel like rooftops are the only places where you can just… exist?"
Something in his words settled into Lena’s bones. She had felt that way for as long as she could remember, though she had never put it into words.
"You get it," she said softly.
Ezra smiled—small, knowing. "Yeah. I get it."
They sat there for a while, Rufus nestled between them, his purring a steady rhythm against the night. Below, the city pulsed with life, but up here, on the edge of everything, Lena felt still.
After a long stretch of quiet, Ezra spoke again. "You new to the city?"
Lena hesitated. "Something like that."
"Planning to stay?"
She glanced at him, searching his expression for something—judgment, curiosity, expectation. But there was none. Just quiet interest, an openness she hadn’t encountered in a long time.
"I don’t know yet," she admitted.
Ezra nodded like he understood, and maybe he did. "Well," he said, "if you do stay… the rooftop’s always open."
Lena didn’t respond right away. Instead, she leaned back, tilting her head toward the sky. Above them, the stars flickered, distant but unwavering. Rufus stretched, letting out a small sigh before curling back into a ball.
For the first time in months, Lena didn’t think about running.
She just let herself be.
Whispers on the Rooftop (Part 2)
Lena didn’t see Ezra the next night. Or the night after that.
She told herself she didn’t care, but that was a lie.
Rufus still met her on the rooftop every evening, curling beside her as she watched the city breathe below. But the space Ezra had briefly occupied now felt… empty.
It had been a long time since she let anyone get close. People left. Or she left first. That was the way of things.
But on the third night, as she sat cross-legged by the ledge, a familiar voice broke the silence.
"Miss me?"
She turned, masking the flicker of relief in her chest. Ezra stood near the rooftop door, a blanket draped over one shoulder, a book in his hand. His curls were messier than usual, and his expression held a teasing light.
"Depends," Lena said, arching an eyebrow. "Did you bring me coffee?"
Ezra laughed, stepping forward. "No, but I brought something better." He sat beside her, holding up the book. "Do you like poetry?"
Lena blinked. That was unexpected.
"I don’t know," she admitted. "Never really read much of it."
Ezra grinned. "Then you’re in for a treat."
He opened the book, smoothing out the pages. His voice was steady, warm, as he began to read.
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
The words sank into Lena’s skin like sunlight.
She closed her eyes, listening.
For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t thinking about the past. Or the future.
Just this moment.
Here.
Now.
Ezra’s voice wove through the night, each word sinking into Lena’s chest like ripples in still water.
"You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting."
She didn’t know why those lines made her throat tighten, but they did. Something about them felt like an invitation to let go.
Ezra glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "You okay?"
Lena nodded, though her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her jacket. She had spent so long carrying things—regret, memories, mistakes. Maybe she had been walking on her knees through the desert, punishing herself for things she couldn't change.
"Who wrote that?" she asked.
"Mary Oliver," Ezra said. "She has a way of making you feel like you’ve been seen, doesn’t she?"
Lena nodded.
They sat in silence after that, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. It was the kind where you didn’t need to fill the space with words.
Rufus stretched, pressing his small body against Lena’s leg, and she absently ran her fingers through his fur.
Finally, Ezra spoke again. "You don’t have to tell me," he said, "but it feels like you’re running from something."
Lena exhaled slowly. "Aren’t we all?"
Ezra tilted his head, considering that. "Maybe. But at some point, you have to stop. Otherwise, you’ll just keep running forever."
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t running. That she had simply chosen to be here, on this rooftop, in this city. But she couldn’t lie.
Ezra didn’t press her. Instead, he laid back on the rooftop, staring up at the sky.
"You ever notice how the stars don’t look the same every night?" he mused.
Lena glanced up. "They always look the same to me."
Ezra smiled. "That’s because you’re not looking close enough."
She frowned, focusing. The sky stretched above them, an endless canvas of tiny pinpricks of light. Some brighter than others. Some barely visible.
Maybe she had never really looked.
Maybe that was the problem.
Lena lay back beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t thinking about leaving.
Lena never talked about her past.
It was easier that way.
But as the nights passed, as she and Ezra kept meeting on the rooftop—reading poetry, drinking coffee, watching the stars—she felt something shift.
One evening, as Rufus purred between them, Ezra asked, “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever lost?”
The question hung in the air.
Lena traced patterns on the rooftop floor with her fingers, the cool concrete grounding her.
“My sister,” she finally whispered.
Ezra didn’t react right away. He let the words settle, like he always did, as if giving her space to breathe.
“What happened?” he asked, voice gentle.
Lena swallowed. She had spent years burying this part of her, but here, under the open sky, she felt like the truth might not suffocate her.
“She was in an accident,” she said. “I was supposed to pick her up that night. But I was late. Five minutes. That’s all it took.”
Ezra turned to look at her, his dark eyes softer than she expected. “Lena, it wasn’t your fault.”
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter how many times she told herself that. It didn’t change the fact that she had been late. That she hadn’t been there when it mattered.
She let out a shaky breath. “I left home after that. Couldn’t stay. Too many memories.”
Ezra was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “You know what I think?”
Lena raised an eyebrow. “You think a lot of things.”
Ezra huffed a small laugh but turned serious again. “I think you’ve spent all this time running from guilt. But your sister wouldn’t want that.”
Lena stared at him, something breaking inside her.
“I don’t know how to stop,” she admitted.
Ezra reached over, carefully, like he wasn’t sure if she’d pull away. When she didn’t, he took her hand in his.
“You start by standing still,” he said. “Right here. With me.”
The rooftop was silent except for the sound of Rufus purring, the city breathing below, and Lena’s heart beating against her ribs.
For the first time since she lost her sister, she wasn’t alone.
And maybe—just maybe—she was ready to stop running.
Lena wasn’t sure what changed after that night.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
She still came to the rooftop every evening. Rufus still curled beside her, warm and steady. Ezra still showed up, sometimes with coffee, sometimes with poetry, sometimes with nothing but his presence.
But something in Lena felt… lighter.
She didn’t talk about her sister again. Not right away. But she didn’t need to. Ezra never pushed. He just sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder, as if reminding her that she wasn’t alone.
One night, a few weeks later, he showed up with an old, battered notebook.
“I, uh… I wrote something,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck.
Lena tilted her head. “A song?”
Ezra grinned. “You have been listening.”
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. Ezra had a habit of playing guitar in his apartment, his voice drifting through the thin walls. She had never told him, but she listened every time.
Ezra hesitated, then handed her the notebook.
“Read it,” he said. “If you want.”
Lena flipped through the pages, her fingers brushing over scribbled lyrics. The words were raw, filled with longing and loss, with hope and something softer.
The last verse made her throat tighten.
"Maybe we are made of echoes,
of voices lost and found.
Maybe love is in the waiting,
in the space between the sound."
Lena swallowed. “Ezra…”
“I wrote it for you,” he said, his voice quiet. “For what you lost. For what you’re still holding onto.”
Lena closed her eyes, pressing the notebook to her chest. She had spent so long running, so long carrying the weight of her sister’s absence. But here, on this rooftop, with Ezra beside her and Rufus purring in her lap, she realized something.
She wasn’t just made of loss.
She was made of love, too.
Maybe love wasn’t about holding on too tightly or running away.
Maybe it was about standing still.
Right here.
With him.
Lena wasn’t used to feeling safe with people.
But Ezra was different.
He never asked her for more than she was ready to give. He never tried to fix her grief or tell her that time would heal all wounds. Instead, he showed up—again and again—on the rooftop, in the quiet spaces between her words, in the moments when she felt like disappearing.
And maybe that was enough.
One evening, as the sun melted into the horizon, Ezra strummed his guitar beside her. Rufus was curled at their feet, his little body rising and falling with each breath.
Lena closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her.
“You ever think about going back?” Ezra asked softly.
She knew what he meant.
Home.
The place she had abandoned after her sister’s death. The place where the walls still held memories too heavy to bear.
Lena exhaled. “Sometimes.”
Ezra nodded, plucking a slow, gentle melody. “I think you should.”
Her stomach clenched. “I don’t know if I can.”
Ezra set his guitar aside and turned to face her. “Then don’t do it alone.”
Lena blinked. “What?”
“I’ll go with you,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
Lena stared at him, searching his face for hesitation. But there was none. Just quiet certainty.
Tears pricked at her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
Ezra smiled. “Because sometimes, you need someone to sit with you in the hard places. And because you’ve been there for me, too.”
Lena’s heart ached in the best way.
She had spent so long believing she had to carry everything on her own. But maybe—just maybe—she didn’t have to anymore.
She reached for Ezra’s hand, threading her fingers through his.
Maybe it was time to stop running.
Maybe it was time to go home.
And maybe, for the first time in a long time, she wouldn’t have to do it alone.
Lena hadn't seen her hometown in three years.
The thought of returning made her stomach twist. She had imagined this moment so many times—walking through familiar streets, hearing the whispers of the past in every corner. But she had always imagined doing it alone.
Now, Ezra was beside her.
They sat in a quiet train car, the hum of the tracks filling the silence between them. Rufus was tucked in a small carrier at Lena’s feet, sleeping soundly.
Ezra nudged her gently. "You okay?"
Lena stared out the window at the passing countryside. "I don’t know."
Ezra didn’t press. He just reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "I’m here," he said simply.
And somehow, that was enough.
By the time they arrived, the sky had darkened. The town was just as Lena remembered—small, quiet, filled with the ghosts of yesterday.
They walked in silence toward her childhood home. Her parents still lived there. She had written letters but never sent them. What could she say? I left because I couldn’t bear to stay. I left because every room was too full of her.
But now, standing at the door, she felt like a child again.
Ezra squeezed her hand. "Take your time."
Lena swallowed hard, then knocked.
The door creaked open.
Her mother stood there, older than she remembered, with weary eyes that widened at the sight of her.
"Lena?"
Lena’s throat tightened.
"Hi, Mom."
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, suddenly, her mother pulled her into a hug so tight, Lena thought she might break.
But instead, she melted.
She let herself be held.
And for the first time in years, she let herself come home.
Lena hadn't realized how much she missed the smell of home—old wood, freshly brewed tea, and the faintest trace of her sister’s vanilla perfume, still lingering in the corners of the house.
Her mother clung to her as if afraid she would disappear again. Her father stood a few steps away, silent but watching, his eyes softer than she expected.
"I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again," her mother whispered.
Lena swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I’m sorry," she said, the words barely audible.
Her mother pulled back just enough to cup her face. "You don’t have to be sorry. Just tell me you’re staying."
Lena hesitated. She wasn’t sure what staying meant. But before she could answer, Ezra spoke up.
"She’s not alone," he said, his voice steady.
Her mother turned to him, taking in the young man who had traveled here with her daughter, who stood close enough that it was obvious he was more than a friend.
"And you are?"
Ezra smiled. "Ezra. I’m… a friend."
Lena glanced at him, and for the first time, she realized how much she wanted to say something else.
Her mother studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Well, Ezra, you’re welcome here too."
That night, after dinner, Lena stood in her sister’s old room.
Nothing had changed. Her books were still lined neatly on the shelves. A half-burned candle sat on the desk. Photos of the two of them were pinned to the wall—laughing, arms around each other, frozen in time.
Ezra appeared in the doorway. "Want me to leave you alone?"
Lena shook her head. "Stay."
He stepped inside, taking in the pieces of her past.
Lena ran her fingers over a framed picture of her and her sister at the beach. "She was the best part of me," she whispered.
Ezra was quiet for a moment, then said, "I think she still is."
Lena blinked up at him.
"You carry her with you," Ezra continued. "In the way you love, in the way you look for meaning in things. She’s not just in the past, Lena. She’s in you."
Tears welled in her eyes. "How do you always know what to say?"
Ezra shrugged, offering a small smile. "I just say what’s true."
Lena exhaled shakily, then took a step forward.
For so long, she had been afraid of letting anyone get too close. But now, standing here in the house she had run from, with Ezra looking at her like she was something worth staying for, she realized something.
She didn’t want to run anymore.
Slowly, she reached for his hand.
Ezra squeezed her fingers gently.
And just like that, she knew.
She was home.
Not just in this house.
But in him.
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