Beneath the Orange Sky — Part 2

🌇 Genre: Romance / Contemporary / Slow Burn Love

Chapter Two: The First Flicker

The next night, Maya didn’t go to the rooftop.

She told herself it was because she was tired. Because she had work early. Because the cooler had broken and she needed to deal with the spoiled milk.

But really—it was because she didn’t want to see him again.

Correction: she wanted to. And that scared her more than being alone ever had.

The night after that, she went.

He was already there again. Same hoodie. Same stillness. Except this time, there was a cigarette burning between his fingers.

“You smoke?” she asked, stepping closer.

He looked at her, exhaled slowly. “Only when I’m trying not to say something stupid.”

Maya raised an eyebrow. “And what stupid thing were you about to say?”

He studied her. “That I hoped you’d come back.”

Her breath caught.

That was the thing about Liam—he didn’t flirt like a guy who’d practiced in front of a mirror. His words always landed soft, but deep. As if he didn’t care if you caught them or not—he just needed to say them.

Maya sat beside him this time. Too close. Too deliberate.

“Rough day?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Rough year.”

He passed her the cigarette without asking. She took it, just to feel the heat on her fingers. Just to feel something.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said.

“Yeah? What’d you expect?”

“Someone quieter. Less…”

“Troubled?”

“No,” she said. “Less dangerous.”

His smile curved, lazy and unreadable. “I’m not dangerous.”

She leaned in, just enough. “That’s the most dangerous thing you’ve said all night.”

Somewhere below, the streetlights buzzed. The city was alive, but here—on this rooftop—they were in their own world. A little bubble of heat and tension and stolen glances.

“You ever kiss someone you shouldn’t?” Liam asked suddenly.

Maya didn’t look at him. “Everyone has.”

He turned toward her. “No, I mean really shouldn’t. Like… you knew it would break something inside you, but you still did it anyway.”

She didn’t respond.

Not with words.

Instead, she turned, slow and steady, and let her eyes meet his. They were too close now. Her knee brushed his. Her hand rested near his thigh. Their breath synced. Hearts thumped in shared silence.

Then she whispered, “Don’t ask that kind of question if you’re not ready for the answer.”

And with that, she stood up, walking away before he could say another word. Before she did something she’d regret. Before they did.

Because one more second on that rooftop and she would’ve kissed him.

And she had no idea if that would’ve saved her—or ruined her completely.

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