The city had changed once the sun disappeared. The streets glowed under soft yellow lamps, and the sound of distant laughter floated through the air. She stood at the edge of the rooftop garden, her pink gown catching every whisper of wind.

He arrived quietly, just as before. No grand entrances, no words. She turned and met his gaze, and that was enough. The skyline behind her shimmered, but her eyes were brighter.

“You came,” she said, her voice almost a sigh.

“I never left,” he replied.

They stood close, their shadows merging under the faint light of the hanging lanterns. The evening carried a warmth that had nothing to do with the air. He noticed how the tiny beads on her dress caught the moonlight, tracing soft constellations across her skin.

They talked for a while—about music, dreams, and the strange comfort of knowing someone who seemed to understand without effort. She told him about her love for quiet moments, the kind where the world feels paused. He told her about his habit of noticing details—like how she always played with her ring when she was lost in thought.

When the music from the restaurant below drifted up—a slow, tender tune—he reached out his hand. “Dance with me.”

She smiled, setting her glass down. “Here?”

“Here’s perfect.”

Barefoot, she stepped closer. Their movements were unhurried. No choreography, just rhythm and feeling. The sound of the city faded, replaced by their laughter and the soft rustle of fabric.

When the song ended, neither moved away. The air between them felt alive, carrying everything unspoken.

He leaned close enough to feel her breath. “This feels like something I’ll remember,” he whispered.

Her fingers brushed his. “Then remember it well.”

And under the glow of a thousand city lights, they did.