Someday in June
Two years later.
The rooftop hasn't changed much.
It still smells like sun and quiet dirt, still creaks a little when they climb.
Kira sets down her sketchbook.
Mina lays back on the worn blanket they brought.
A lemon soda sweats between them.
The town below hums.
The sky above glows orange-pink.
"I missed this," Mina says.
Kira doesn't look up. She's sketching. "Me too."
"You still draw like breathing."
"You still talk like music."
Mina smiles, eyes half-closed. "How long has it been since the first rooftop?"
"Two years, three months, and twelve days."
Mina laughs softly. "You counted?"
"You wore that green jacket," Kira says. "I didn't draw for three days after because I didn't want to ruin the feeling."
Mina rolls onto her side. "Do you think we changed anything?"
Kira sets her pencil down. Looks at her.
"No," she says. "I think we changed. And that was enough."
Mina reaches for her hand. Their fingers find each other easily, like a memory already known.
They stay there a long time.
Later, Kira sketches them again.
Not younger. Not broken.
Just two girls on a roof.
Holding hands.
Still.