Mint Green Dreams in the Neon Rain

The city doesn't care if you're breaking inside. It just keeps humming, a million neon signs screaming for attention while I felt like a ghost in my own skin.
I remember the night he found me standing there—out of place and shivering in this mint green bikini that felt more like armor than swimwear. I had walked out of that high-rise office building without a second thought, leaving behind the spreadsheets and the fake smiles just to feel something real against my skin, even if it was only the bite of the evening air.
He didn't laugh. He didn't ask why. He just draped his oversized denim jacket over my shoulders, smelling faintly of old books and cheap coffee. His hand lingered on my waist for a second too long, a warm anchor in a sea of rushing strangers.
'You look like you've finally decided to wake up,' he whispered with that crooked grin that made the grit of the alleyway feel like velvet.
We spent the rest of the night walking through those narrow streets, my high heels clicking against the pavement. I didn't need a beach or a vacation; I just needed someone who could look past the costume and see the girl underneath. In his eyes, I wasn't a mistake or a breakdown—I was art in progress.
Now, whenever the city feels too loud, I close my eyes and remember that mint-colored rebellion, and the way he held me as if I were the only thing worth seeing under all those flashing lights.

Editor: Alleyway Friend