The rooftop hadn't changed. It still looked the same, still held that hushed kind of stillness only night could bring. The lights of the city blinked far in the distance, soft and out of reach. The wind was gentler now, no longer howling with the fury it once had when their words tore through the air. Instead, it whispered.
Ashtine stood near the railing, arms crossed lightly over her chest, not out of defensiveness but because she didn't know what else to do with her hands. Her heart had been louder than her thoughts all day, ever since she caught sight of the rooftop door while walking past.
She didn't plan to stop.
But she did.
And now, here she was again, in the place where everything between them had always found its way to surface. Where truths had broken through smiles, and silences said too much.
Behind her, the heavy door creaked open.
She didn't turn around.
The silence stretched before a pair of footsteps slowly crossed behind her. She could feel the way her body tightened with each step he took closer. She knew those footsteps. She'd memorized them.
"I thought I'd be the only one here," Andres said softly.
His voice was steadier than before. Less defensive. No sharp edges.
Ashtine exhaled, not turning yet. "I thought the same."
Another pause. Longer this time. The wind danced around them, playing with strands of her hair, tugging at the hem of his hoodie.
"It's been a while," he said. There wasn't accusation in his tone—just something like disbelief.
"It has," she replied, eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Six months."
He stepped forward, stopping just short of standing beside her. Not too close. Not too far. She finally turned her head, just slightly, to look at him.
Andres looked older. Not in the way that years change a face, but in the way that waiting does. He looked like someone who had waited in silence for something he wasn't sure would ever come back.
"You didn't text," he said after a beat.
Ashtine let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Neither did you."
They both fell quiet again. But this time, it didn't feel like avoidance. It felt like the weight of everything that had gone unsaid was finally filling the air.
"I wanted to," he said.
She turned to face him fully. "Then why didn't you?"
Andres looked at her, long and hard. "Because I didn't want to know if you… didn't want to hear from me."
Her heart ached at that. "I waited."
He blinked. And then smiled. Sad. Surprised. Shaken. "I waited too."
There was something so soft in that admission it made her throat tighten.
"Every shoot day." She said. "Every time someone asked about you in interviews. I waited for you to call. Or to show up. I waited even when I told myself I shouldn't."
Andres looked away for a moment, as if the sky had something better to say. "I thought you hated me. After that night."
"I hated that we let it get that far," she said, quietly. "But I never hated you. Not even for a second."
He met her eyes then. "You kissed me."
Ashtine flushed. But she didn't look away. "I did."
His voice dropped. "Why?"
"Because I wanted to remember what it felt like to want you without hating myself for it."
His breath caught. "You never had to hate yourself for that."
"You think I didn't?" Her voice was small now. Raw. "I felt like I ruined everything. I crossed a line. I walked away and didn't explain."
"You didn't ruin anything," he said. Then corrected himself. "We both did. But we also… had something real. Didn't we?"
She nodded. Slowly. "We did."
Andres stepped forward. This time, a little closer. Still careful.
"Do you think it's too late?"
Ashtine looked up at him, tears stinging her eyes.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But I'm here, aren't I?"
He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against her hand. Not holding. Not grabbing. Just… waiting.
She didn't pull away.
And somewhere behind them, the city moved on. But up here, time stilled. The wind blowing gently, yanking their strands of hair in a soft moment.
Not quite forgiveness. Not quite a new beginning. But maybe—finally—the middle of something honest.
Two hearts that had waited. For each other. And maybe, just maybe, they still could.