The cabin stops for a few seconds at the top, swaying gently with the breeze. From up here, the whole world seems reduced to a distant whisper, insignificant compared to the weight we carry in our chests.
"Legend has it that couples who kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel are destined to be together forever," he comments suddenly, with a hoarse, deep voice, as if digging into the depths of his memories to find the courage to say it.
I stay silent. I had heard it before, maybe in some Asian drama, or read it in a story that promised eternal love under the stars. But this is not a fairy tale.
"But we aren't a couple," I respond, letting my words fade into the cold air up here. I try to smile, though the grimace feels more like a shield than a genuine gesture—"Maybe you should go with Susy
