On The Terrace, Just Before The Stars

She wandered to the terrace
not looking for magic—
just escaping the hum of the house,
the kind of quiet that feels too loud
when you are alone with memory.

Barefoot on sun-warmed tiles,
a mug in hand gone cold.
her eyes drifted lazily—
until laughter rose,
light and golden,
from the garden below.

A couple,
bathed in the amber glow of a streetlamp,
were wrapped in each other
like a shared secret—
his hand brushing her cheek,
her laughter spilling into him
like a melody she knew by heart.

She stopped mid-step,
as if time had softened
just for her,
a hush settled in her bones.

And then—
the breeze came,
gentle and teasing,
dancing with her hair
like he used to do,
just before he'd say something
that would make her laugh
without trying.

In that moment,
she was no longer alone.
she was back—
in late-night walks,
in whispered songs on rooftops,
in the quiet of his shoulder
where her world once rested.

Memories rested around her like arms,
not heavy,
but warm.
not haunting,
but tender.

A smile touched her lips—
the kind that slips out
when your heart remembers
something it still secretly wants.

Below,
the couple paused.
Her smile had reached them—
soft and unexpected.
They looked up at her,
then at each other,
as if they'd just seen love
from the outside in.

None of them spoke,
they didn't need to.
Something sweeter than words
hung in the air—
a shared silence,
a pause in the world's spinning.

And for a breathless moment,
No one knew what the other was thinking,
but everyone
was thinking of someone.

No words.
Just wind.
Just Memory.
Just hearts,
open like windows
on a perfect night.