Adrian

Across the Balconies They lived in buildings that stood face to face, separated by only a narrow alleyway and a stretch of sky. Every morning, Sofia leaned on her balcony railing, sipping her tea while the world slowly woke. And every morning, Adrian was there too, fumbling with his tie or watering the stubborn plant that never seemed to grow. At first, it was just passing glances, polite nods. But over time, the distance between them began to shrink—bridged by waves, short greetings, and smiles that lingered a little too long. One evening, the golden light of sunset spilled across the alley. Adrian appeared with a bouquet of flowers in his hand—roses, a little wilted at the edges, but beautiful all the same. He leaned across the railing, stretching as far as he could, his arm trembling under the weight of both the flowers and his courage. “For you,” he called, voice unsteady. “I couldn’t think of a better way to say it.” Sofia’s breath caught. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the petals before wrapping around the stems. For a moment, the space between them felt like nothing at all