The Amber Echo of Us

The city below is a tapestry of humming lives, yet up here, everything feels suspended in amber. I lean against the cool glass railing, watching the sun dip low enough to brush my skin with its final, gilded kiss.
My fingers trace the metal edge—a steady anchor in this sea of shifting shadows. The air smells faintly of rain and expensive perfume, a lingering memory of our walk through the gardens earlier today.

I can still feel the ghost of your hand on my waist, that fleeting pressure which taught me how to breathe again after so many months of holding it alone inside myself. It wasn't just love; it was an invitation back into life, a gentle opening of windows in a house I thought had been sealed shut.

I watch the reflection move—a shimmering twin dancing against the skyline. Is that who we were? Or is it who I am becoming under your gaze?

The warmth on my shoulders isn't just from the fading light; it’s a slow-blooming ache of recognition. You are there, even when you aren't visible to me now, woven into the rhythm of my pulse and the quiet hum of this balcony. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the city noise fade until all that remains is your name whispered in the space between breaths.

Editor: Evelyn Lin