The city sleeps behind me, its heartbeat a dull throb of engines and neon veins. I stand on the old bridge, watching the moon fracture on the water like shattered glass. A cold wind brushes my face, whispering the kind of lullaby only loneliness can sing.

I lean forward.

The world below looks peaceful—too peaceful for what it hides.

People call this the lovers’ bridge.

Ironic.

To me,it’s just concrete and silence—an ending no one would notice.

They say love gives life meaning. But only those who have seen it through know it's just a colourful, heartbreaking illusion. A beautiful lie.

I learned this the night my father smiled with red-rimmed eyes—eyes that carried a pain like no other—holding a letter in his hand.

“Your mother’s going away,”he said, “but I’m still here.”

I was nine.

That night,I learned how even the purest devotion can rot.

Since then, I’ve lived like a ghost wearing a human mask. Classmates talk about dreams, about futures; I talk about nothing. Because nothing doesn't hurt.

I step closer to the edge. The metal rail is cold under my palms.

Maybe,if I jump, I’ll finally stop hearing the echo of that fake smile.

And then—

“Doesn’t it look beautiful?”

A voice—soft, bright, impossibly out of place.

I turn.

She’s there, just a few feet away.

Blonde hair dances in the night breeze;blue eyes shimmer with stolen moonlight. For a moment, she doesn’t seem real—just light carved into human shape.

“The city,” she says, pointing at the sprawl of lights below. “From here, it looks like stars fell to the earth.”

I stare, expressionless.

Who talks about beauty while standing on the edge of death?

“You shouldn’t be here,” I mutter.

“And you?”she asks, tilting her head. “You look like someone who came to make a wish.”

Her tone is calm, almost teasing. The absurdity of it drags a laugh out of me—a sound I haven’t heard from myself in years.

“A wish? I stopped believing in those the day I learned life is a scam.”

“Then maybe you just made the wrong wish,”she replies.

Silence stretches between us, filled with wind and the city’s hum.

Two strangers.Two broken hearts. One edge.

“Do you believe in love?” I ask suddenly, the question leaving me before I can stop it.

“Of course,”she says, no hesitation. “It’s the only lie worth living for.”

Her words hit harder than the wind. I can’t decide if she’s insane or enlightened.

“Even if it hurts,” I whisper, “why keep believing?”

“Because the pain proves it’s real,”she answers. “Because when it hurts, it means your heart is still alive.”

For the first time in years, I have no reply.

The moon slides behind a cloud, and the world dims.

I glance at the dark water below,then at her—this stranger glowing faintly in the gloom.

Maybe love really is suffering.

But in that instant,for a reason I don’t understand, the suffering feels….

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