The Distance Between Us Is Measured in Light

The city below is a tapestry of restless ambitions, thousands of lights blinking like steady heartbeats against the velvet dark. From this height, everything feels small—the traffic, the deadlines, even my own fears. I pull my sweater closer to my skin, seeking a warmth that isn't just from the wool.

He is standing just behind me now, his presence a soft weight in the air before he even speaks. He doesn't need to say anything; we have reached this point through months of shared silences and whispered plans over lukewarm coffee. I lean my chin against my hand, watching his reflection dance in the glass of some distant skyscraper.

"It’s beautiful," I murmur, though he knows I am looking at him, not the skyline.

He rests a hand on my shoulder—a touch so light it feels like an invitation rather than an anchor. In this high perch above Taipei, away from the noise of our daily lives, we are suspended in a moment that belongs only to us. The cold air nips at my cheeks, but his gaze holds me in a different kind of climate: one where time slows down until every breath feels intentional. I don't need grand gestures or loud declarations; right here, under the watchful eye of the tower and the infinite stars, is enough.

Editor: Grace