Beneath the Rooftop Sky
The evening air was cool—cooler than it should've been for late spring, brushing gently through the rusted slats of Nephis's cracked window like a lover with cold fingers. She had just come back from her final shift of the day, her steps heavy, her back soaked in sweat beneath her shirt, and the ache in her legs pulsing to the beat of every step she had taken since dawn.
Her apartment—if you could call it that—was a rooftop studio sitting on top of a forgotten four-story building in the oldest part of town. The outside stairwell creaked with every footfall. The metal roof groaned when the wind picked up. Her door didn't quite shut unless you kicked it hard at the base.
But inside?
Inside was hers.
A single mattress sat in the far corner, pressed against the peeling concrete wall and covered with three mismatched blankets—one of which had holes from where mice had once nested. Beside the mattress, an old plastic chair served as a nightstand. On it, her phone, a small pink flashlight, and a stack of papers she hadn't dared open—bills, mostly, and one job rejection letter that she'd never thrown away.
The kitchenette was barely functioning: a cracked sink, a two-burner stove she rarely used, and a tiny mini-fridge humming louder than necessary. Above it, a single cupboard that held four chipped plates, two bowls, and one cup with a broken handle. Her pantry held exactly three items: a pack of noodles, one egg, and instant coffee she didn't have sugar for.
Still, she boiled water. Made the noodles. Ate in silence.
And when she was done, she washed her plate, dried it with the hem of her already-dirty T-shirt, and folded it back into the cupboard.
Everything she owned fit into this one-room box beneath the stars.
After her bath—cold, quick, and stolen from the bucket she'd filled earlier—she lay down on her mattress and opened her phone.
Her fingers hesitated.
She didn't want to check.
But she had to.
Her notifications were a battlefield. The Olivia video—that moment—had blown up in a way she hadn't expected. She had hoped, maybe foolishly, that she'd be invisible. That the girl in the video was too blurry, too dirty, too nothing to be noticed.
But that's not how social media worked.
The video had over 16 million views. Olivia had captioned it:
"Even when I give back, they look like they want to bite the hand that feeds. Stay humble, folks. #BeKind"
Nephis's chest tightened.
The comments were worse than the video.
"Is that a person or a stray dog?"
"I can smell her from here."
"Tell her to bathe and smile more, maybe someone will care."
"She's the reason we need gated communities."
No one knew her name.
Not yet.
But her face—tired, overwhelmed, that single frozen frame of humiliation—was everywhere.
And somehow... that was worse.
She stared at her reflection in the darkened screen, her breath slowing, chest tight.
They didn't know her.
They didn't know the nights she went without food. The days she cleaned vomit off bathroom walls. The way she woke up gasping from dreams of her parents—gone, without a trace.
They didn't know how hard she tried.
Or how close she was to breaking.
Her hands began to tremble.
She dropped the phone.
Pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, forcing herself not to cry.
Not again.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood.
They didn't know anything.
But Olivia... she always knew just how to hurt her.
The laughter. The card. The world watching like it was entertainment.
And it worked.
Nephis curled tighter into herself, her cheek pressing against the mattress, body shaking as tears broke through the cracks she'd tried to seal.
Then—her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
And finally—
"Adams calling..."
Her heart cracked a little more.
She picked it up with trembling fingers and answered.
"...Hello?" Her voice barely carried.
"Neph." His voice was warm. Concerned. "You okay?"
She wanted to say yes. Lie.
But he knew.
"...You saw it," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"I saw everything." A pause. "I'm coming over."
"Adam—"
But the line had already gone dead.
Ten minutes later, a knock echoed at her door.
She opened it, barefoot, hair still damp from the bath, face blotchy and bare.
And there he was.
Adam Taye.
Her oldest friend. Her co-survivor.
He looked the same—tall, lean, too thin from not eating enough, handsome in the way that made people double-take, but too weighed down by poverty to shine the way he should have.
His shirt was wrinkled. His jeans too short at the ankles. The soles of his shoes were beginning to split. But his eyes—those soft brown eyes—were full of fire.
She stepped aside to let him in.
He glanced around the apartment like he always did, sadness flickering briefly in his expression. He never said anything about it, but she saw the way his gaze lingered on the frayed blankets, the exposed pipes, the empty shelf above the stove.
She walked to the rooftop ledge and sat, pulling a blanket around her. He followed.
Out here, the city lights felt far away, like distant galaxies that would never touch them. The rooftop overlooked a junkyard and a row of abandoned buildings. Not a view anyone would brag about—but it was open sky. And it was quiet.
He sat beside her.
"What happened?"
She told him.
About the video. The comments. The laughter. The card still sitting in her drawer like a cursed talisman.
And when she was done, she expected him to be angry.
Instead, he smiled.
"This is your chance," he said.
She blinked at him. "What?"
"To flip the narrative," he said. "Let them see you. All of you. You're the only one who thinks this has to end with you crying on a mattress no one sees."
She laughed bitterly. "Adam... you work in a warehouse making less than minimum wage. I scrub toilets. Who the hell is going to listen to us?"
"Everyone," he said simply. "Because they don't want perfection. They want real."
She turned to look at him. "You think I should... what? Post something? Join in the circus? Let people dig up the fact that my mom vanished without a trace and my dad was arrested and disappeared too? Let them see where I live? What I eat? That I still wear secondhand bras and my only pair of socks have holes in the toes?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "Yes. Because someone out there lives like this too. And they need to know they're not alone."
The silence between them stretched. Long. Heavy.
Finally, she said, "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not," he said. "It's humiliating. But they already humiliated you, Neph. Might as well own the narrative."
She gave a short laugh, looking out at the dark city skyline.
"You're insane," she murmured.
"I'm broke," he corrected. "Big difference."
She turned toward him and smiled faintly.
He smiled back.
The wind picked up, rustling the thin rooftop curtain tied around her makeshift drying rack. A loose clothespin snapped off and fell into the alley below.
"This is the part in the movie," she said, "where we promise to rise and then... win it all."
He bumped her shoulder with his.
"This isn't a movie," he said. "It's our lives."
"...Exactly."
Another long pause.
"You're not a dirty pig," he said softly.
She looked at him.
"You're Nephis. The girl who beat the system long before it noticed her.
Adam's words lingered in the quiet air between them.
"You're not broken," he whispered. "They just want you to believe you are."
Nephis didn't answer. She was watching the clouds roll in, fingers curled tight around the edge of her blanket like she was trying to hold onto something that could still slip away.
Her phone buzzed once.
A DM notification.
Then again.
And again.
Curious, she unlocked it.
No username.
Just a string of numbers.
One message.
"They saw you."
She blinked.
Before she could respond—another message appeared.
"This is your one chance. Don't waste it."
No name. No profile picture. Nothing.
She stared at the screen, pulse picking up.
Another buzz.
A photo.
A screenshot from the video.
But not the one Olivia had posted.
This one was from behind her.
Someone had been watching.
Someone had recorded her walking away after Olivia laughed—head down, jaw tight, pain barely hidden.
But this version didn't go viral.
This version had never been seen.
Until now.
And below it, a final message:
"You're more powerful than you know. I'm watching."
Nephis's fingers went still.
She looked up at Adam.
He was saying something—she didn't hear it.
Her chest rose. Fell. Rose again.
She didn't know if she should be terrified...
...or ready.