7:42 PM – Sidewalk, two blocks from Blossom Street

The sky was bruised.

Not dark yet — just purple, orange, and tired.
People walked like they had somewhere to be.
I walked like I didn’t want to arrive.

My backpack clung to one shoulder.
Sweat traced down my spine.
The city air clung like second skin — warm, sour, impatient.

Then the corner minimarket.

Fluorescent lights.
Dusty window.
The buzz of a freezer that sounded older than my childhood.

I wasn’t going to stop.

Until I saw them.

Cans of beer stacked like bad decisions.
Cigarette boxes behind cloudy glass.

I paused.

Thought of home.
Of how people whispered about me like I was trouble.
Like I drank. Smoked. Screwed around.

They didn’t know the truth.

That I spent weekends studying.
That I wore long sleeves in summer.
That I said “no” more often than I wanted to admit.

So maybe tonight...

Maybe I’d become the girl they always said I was.

______________________________________________________________

8:03 PM – Checkout

Two cans of beer.
One red-and-white cigarette pack.
The cashier didn’t blink.

Didn’t ask for ID.
Didn’t care.

He slid them into a thin plastic bag like they were groceries.
Like he knew what I was doing.
And didn’t judge me for it.

_______________________________________________________

8:16 PM – Room 2B

Dinner was instant noodles.
Overcooked. Still too hot.

I ate them standing, one hand on the windowsill.

My first beer was cracked open with the key to my room.
Tasted like metal and poor decisions.
I drank half before realizing I hadn’t sat down.

The cigarette pack sat on my desk.
Too clean.
Too bold.

I opened it.

Took one out.
Held it.

Put it to my lips.

Soft. Dry. Slightly sweet.
The filter clung to the inside of my mouth like it belonged.

But I didn’t light it.

I didn’t even have a lighter.

Even worse —
I didn’t want this room to smell like someone who was falling apart.

So I slid the can, the unopened second one, and the cigarette pack into my tote bag.

And I went up.

_________________________________________________

8:32 PM – Rooftop, Blossom Street

It smelled like heat and asphalt.

The rooftop was nothing special.

A few bricks.
A couple dead plants.
Cigarette butts.
Wires.

No view.
No beauty.
Just sky.
And air that didn’t belong to anyone.

I sat against the wall.
Pulled the cigarette out again.
Placed it between my lips

Closed my eyes.

Let the silence fall over me.

I took out the beer.
Twisted the cap.

Drank.

This one tasted colder.
Better.
Or maybe I just wanted it to. 

I looked out at the blinking lights.
Imagined what people in those windows were doing.

Dinner. Sex. Homework. Silence.

I wondered if anyone was watching me back.

I tried to light the cigarette again.
Forgot.
Still no lighter.

I sighed.

  “Seriously?”

I laughed, once.
Tired.

Bona… how can I be reckless and still this responsible?

The beer was halfway gone.

I sat with the cigarette in my mouth, unlit.
Felt the weight of pretending.

Then—

Footsteps.

I didn’t move.

She arrived like smoke.
Slow. Easy. Barefoot.

Talia.

Tank top gray with sweat at the collar.
Sweatpants low on her hips.
Hair up. Strands loose.

She had a real cigarette.
And a bottle in her other hand.

She paused when she saw me.
One brow lifted.

  “You’re in my spot.”

I blinked.

  “I didn’t know rooftops had seating charts.”

She smirked.

  “They don’t.
  But this one knows me.”

She walked closer.
Didn’t ask permission.
Sat beside me.

Not touching.
But close enough to feel the warmth between us.

She lit her cigarette with one flick.
Inhaled.
Held.
Exhaled like it was a language.

  “You gonna smoke that or just date it?”

  “I forgot a lighter.”

  “Mmm. Cute.”

She reached over.

Took the cigarette from my lips.
Lit it on hers.
Slipped it back in place.

  “There.”

I tried not to stare.

The flame.
The way her mouth curved around the filter.
The heat in her fingers when they brushed mine.

I took a drag.

Coughed.

She laughed.

  “First time?”

I nodded.

  “You’re holding it too tight.
  Relax.”

I tried again.

This time it burned slower.
Deeper.

And it hit.

Not hard.
Just enough to make my stomach buzz and my chest feel... lit from inside.

She watched me.

Not like she was judging.
But like she was documenting.

  “You don’t seem like the type.”

  “What type?”

  “The rooftop-beer-cigarette kind.”

  “I’m not.”

  “But you want to be?”

I didn’t answer.

She took a swig from her bottle.
Passed it to me.

I drank.
It was sweet.
Stronger than mine.

The silence came back.

But not empty.

Full.
Like a breath being held.

  “You always pretend first before doing something?”

I looked at her.

She wasn’t smiling now.

  “Like you’re trying on rebellion like a jacket.
  See if it fits.”

  “Maybe.”

She nodded.

  “You wear it okay.
  Still too clean.”

I laughed, soft.

We finished the bottles.
She lit another cigarette.
This time, didn’t offer to share.

The city hummed below.

And I let myself lean back on the concrete.
Cigarette between fingers.
Mouth dry.
Body warm.

Talia leaned too.
Closer this time.

We didn’t touch.
But my shoulder could feel her breath 

And that was enough to set the whole rooftop vibrating inside me 

To be continued...