On the Rooftop, We Faced the Pieces We Couldn’t Put Back Together

I left with a jacket.

The elevator hummed and rattled, the numbers ticking upward far too slowly for whatever this was going to be. By the time the doors slid open, the cold had already begun to bite.

I pushed the heavy door open and stared into the distance.

At first, I saw only the silhouette on the railing.

Hazy.

Legs dangling over the edge.

She didn’t see me right away, or maybe she did but didn't care.

“Hey,” I said quietly, stepping closer. “Everything alright?”

She turned her head, the glow of the cigarette caught the wetness of her lashes.

Her voice was a whisper, cracked open.

“I messed up.”

The rooftop was cold, empty. A slab of concrete that hung over New York. The steel railing we sat on trembled when the wind leaned into it. Her cigarette glowed in the dark, the smoke curling away before the breeze tore into it. For a moment, the amber light caught her face, and I almost didn’t recognise it.

Her eyes, once the kind that lit up whole rooms, were swollen red. The cheeks I used to kiss in the park now carried the stains of too many nights crying alone. A smile that once roared like a thousand fireflies was now a faint crack in stone.

I nodded, my hands balling into fists inside my pockets. I wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the dread of what she might say next. I pulled my jacket tighter and hoped silence was enough.

“I’m here,” I heard myself say. “Take your time.”

She shut her eyes, fingers trembling. A tear slipped down her cheek, then another.

My heart sank.

The truth was, we had sunk years ago. We used to be loud, bright, and impossible to miss. The kind to picnic in Holland Park, walk by the river. And come friday night we tangled in blankets with a movie on. Back then, I thought love could carry us to the end. I pictured her old and gray, doing crosswords, graves side by side.

But I was naive.

Love, I’ve learnt, is a transaction. You give and you get, and I didn’t have enough to give. I was stumbling when we both needed each other, and my fear of disappointment curdled into anger.

“I’m shattered,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I shatter so easily.”

She pressed her palms into her eyes, as if she could hold the tears back.

“I try to put the pieces together, but they don’t fit anymore. There’s too many. All I can do is hold them.”

I knew how that felt.

Tiny glass shards shattered across the floor, every one of them a part of you. You crouch down, hands trembling, wanting so badly to make them whole again. Imagining what it was before the pain, and tell yourself that one day you’ll fix it.

But until then, all you can do is gather them. Keep count. Guard them with your life.

And in that, you grip them so tight they bite into your skin. Because the thought of losing even one piece is worse than the sting of a thousand cuts.

“You can’t put them together,” I said, my throat tight.. “Not while they are still cutting you..”

The words tasted unsure.

Should I even be here? What if it only made her feel more alone, even with the person she once called home?

I hesitated, then slid an arm around her. Her face sank into my chest, her skin cold through the fabric of my sweater. I held her as if my warm could sew her back together.

“They don’t fit,” I murmured, holding her tighter. “Because you’ve changed. The pieces have grown with you and together, they could be something more beautiful. But you’re not ready to shape them. Not yet.”

It’s hard to let go of someone like her.

Maybe it was the way she collapsed into me when she was most fragile. Maybe it was the way I felt. The fierce, helpless need to keep her safe. I couldn’t name it. I just knew it was real.

I’ve never thought of myself as someone built for love. But she's the only proof I have that I’m capable of it. Even though we didn’t last, I know I would’ve been there until her final day.

Back then, love wasn’t a business transaction. It wasn’t measured or earned.

It was easy. The easiest thing I’ve ever done, loving her.

She nodded and edged closer, pulling my jacket around herself like a blanket.

“You smell… the same.”

I didn’t know how to take it.

Gently, I pushed her back just enough to hold her face in my hands. Tears still clung to her lashes. I used the edge of my sweater to wipe them away.

“How about we get out of the wind?”

She nodded.

“Hot chocolate?”

Another nod.