The Night Our Worlds Collided

The Night Our Worlds Collided I wasn’t supposed to be on that rooftop. The plan was simple: show up for my colleague’s birthday, wish him well, stay just long enough to avoid looking rude, and then slip out before anyone noticed the introvert hiding in the corner. Crowds drained me. Loud music made my thoughts scatter. I preferred quiet rooms, soft lights, and conversations that didn’t require raising my voice. But life has a way of interrupting plans you think are safe. The rooftop was buzzing with soft laughter and warm lights strung overhead, swaying in the late-night breeze. The city below shimmered like a scattered constellation. People danced. Glasses clinked. Someone was taking far too many photos of a cake that didn’t deserve that much attention. I stood near the railing, nursing a drink I didn’t particularly like, staring at the skyline like it was my only lifeline. Then she arrived. I didn’t see her at first — I felt her. A burst of energy behind me, a ripple through the space, the kind of presence that shifts the mood without asking permission. When I turned, she was weaving through the crowd with a grace that felt both effortless and impossible. Her dress caught the city...