"In a city that never sleeps, it's the stillness between us that feels the loudest."
Brighton breathed in heat and let it out in noise.
At dawn, the city stirred not gently, but with the rustle of newspaper pages flapping in the wind, the hiss of early tea kettles, the honk of impatient drivers already jammed into lanes too narrow for the ambitions they carried. The light was golden, thick with dust—filtering through broken fences, overgrown balconies, and the haze of smog that never quite left.
The streets were alive before they were awake.
Small corner shops opened one shutter at a time. Tea stalls, manned by boys barely old enough to lift the kettles they carried, offered tiny clay cups of syrupy tea and butter-slicked toast. The scent of cardamom and frying oil hung in the air like perfume, clinging to the sleeves of the morning.
Posters peeled off every wall—for college entrance coaching, new flats in neighborhoods no one could afford, wedding makeup artists, political slogans. All of it layered and faded like the city's skin. Overhead, tangled electric wires dipped dangerously close to rooftops strung with laundry and drying chilies.
Brighton wasn't beautiful in the way postcards promised.
It was beautiful in the way a memory is—flawed, cracked, and deeply familiar.
Pavement vendors balanced baskets of fruit on bicycles. Stray cats leapt from shutter to shutter, slipping into half-open shops like ghosts. The sidewalks were never clear—littered with plastic cups, bricks, hawker stands, and the casual chaos of urban life that everyone navigated by instinct.
Above it all, high-rise buildings climbed into the smog, side by side with crumbling three-storied homes left behind by the city's older families. Rooftop gardens bloomed in forgotten corners—basil, papaya, marigolds—tended by hands that craved something green in a world too gray.
Traffic hummed like background music—always present, never polite. People jaywalked with a confidence born not from recklessness, but from habit. In Brighton, the streets belonged to whoever dared to move first.
The city did not pretend to be easy.
It was humid and overgrown and constantly unfinished. Billboards covered construction sites that had been abandoned for years. Pedestrian bridges became makeshift resting places. Rainwater gathered in potholes and stayed there long after the storm had passed.
But in between all that—life.
Children ran with schoolbags too big for their backs. University students crammed into campus buses, arguing about politics or heartbreak. Lovers walked shoulder to shoulder, careful not to touch. The smell of paper and ink drifted from roadside bookshops.
A city that held heartbreak and hope in the same breath.
Brighton never slept.
It simply changed tempo.
And in the summer, it slowed just enough for everything to feel a little too close, a little too real.
....
Brighton wasn't what I'd imagined.
Compared to this, my hometown felt peaceful. Quieter. Simpler.
Admission into Brighton University—the most revered university in Navara—had always been my dream. But I never expected the city itself to be this overwhelming.
Two months ago, when our final exam results were published, I'd earned a score high enough to apply to Brighton University . Ryan got accepted into a law college in the same city, and Claire was admitted to a Brighton medical college. Her dream of becoming a doctor was finally within reach.
It was comforting that we'd all ended up in the same city after college.
After the exams, Lily and I started talking again. Our conversations resumed like old times, though not as frequently. We were both busy preparing for our new lives.
It was during one of those chats that Lily told me—she's going abroad.
Something about that struck me in a way I hadn't expected.
She's going to leave? To be far away from me?
The thought kept echoing in my head.
We each have our own path now.
And even though we haven't made it official, Lily and I—we feel like a couple.
And now, I'm in her city.
.....
Bzzz...
My phone vibrated on the table.
I glanced at the screen.
Ryan.
3 p.m.
Why would he call at a time like this?
I answered.
"Yo, genius," came his familiar, overly cheerful voice.
"What's the matter?"
"Is that how you treat your best friend?" he snorted. "Anyway—have you settled into your new apartment yet?"
"Yeah. Though I'm not a fan of this overcrowded place. At least the window lets in some air."
Ryan chuckled. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it. I did."
He had arrived in Brighton half a month before me. I'd had a few things to take care of, which delayed my move.
"So, where are you now?" Ryan asked, a bit too excitedly. "Let's hang out!"
"Do you even know what time it is?" I said. "In this scorching heat, you want to go out?!"
He laughed again. "That's the fun of city life, my boy. Send me your location. I'll come pick you up."
And just like that, he ended the call.
I sighed.
I'd wanted to say no.
But it was already too late.
....
That same afternoon.
Lily and Claire met at a small café tucked between bookstores and boutiques. It had tall windows, warm lighting, and the soft hum of jazz playing overhead—a quiet oasis in the middle of the bustling city.
Lily stepped inside first.
Her appearance had changed slightly—subtle but noticeable. Her chestnut brown hair had been trimmed to a shoulder-length cut that framed her delicate face. She wore simple silver studs, a cream-colored kurti, and a navy blue shawl draped lightly around her shoulders. Her thin-framed glasses gave her a scholarly, thoughtful look. Though her movements were graceful, a quiet nervous energy clung to her today.
At a corner table, Claire was already waiting.
She was taller, with sharp, confident features and shoulder-length black hair parted to the side. Her makeup was light but elegant. A wine-red blouse hugged her frame, tucked into high-waisted jeans, and a leather watch ticked softly on her wrist as she stirred her coffee.
Claire had that natural charisma—poised, magnetic, and grounded.
Their eyes met.
"You've changed so much, Claire," Lily said as she settled into the seat.
Claire smiled, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup. "We both have."
They laughed softly. That kind of laughter only old friends share.
"Did Solace tell you he's in Brighton now?" Claire asked, sipping her drink.
"Yeah," Lily nodded. "He told me a few days ago."
Claire's expression turned serious.
"So… what are you two going to do? I mean, with you going abroad and all."
Lily didn't answer right away. She just smiled—a soft, wistful smile.
"We decided to enjoy the time we have. After that…"
Her gaze wandered out the window.
Outside, a pair of pigeons rose into the sky together.
Then, in a quiet rhythm, they drifted apart—each pulled in their own direction.