The Mist Between Us

The city hums outside these walls—a constant, jagged vibration of sirens and steel. But here, in this hidden corner where the water falls like shattered glass against stone, everything softens.

I can still feel the grit under my fingernails from a day spent navigating deadlines that never end. My skin feels raw from the air conditioning, but your hand on mine is different. It’s warm. Real. It smells of rain and old books, a scent I want to bury my face in until I forget how to breathe properly.

The white lace of my dress catches on nothing but the mist. I watch you look at me through the spray, your eyes holding all the secrets we haven't dared to say out loud yet. You don't need grand gestures; just this—the way you hold my gaze while the water masks our voices.

We are two ghosts in a concrete maze, finding each other’s pulse in a place that doesn't belong on any map. For now, let the city burn its fuel elsewhere. Here, there is only the rhythm of falling water and the slow, steady heat building between us.

Editor: Alleyway Friend