Like Glass

Above the library rooftop terrace, the sky was dull and flat—the kind of moody white-grey of clouds not quite ready to cry, just heavy with the threat of it.

Elise leaned back on the concrete ledge, a cigarette pinched between her fingers like it made her older than seventeen.

 

Her sister sat cross-legged beside her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, typing something fast on her phone. Probably another fantasy book review.

 

“Don’t look now,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “There’s a guy over there. By the rail. Third bench.”

 

Her sister was fifteen, but sharper than she looked, didn’t even glance up from her screen. “He’s been watching you for five minutes.”

 

Elise snorted. “Really?”

 

“Mm-hmm.” She nudged her. “You should talk to him.”

 

She turned her face away. “I can’t. I’m not—like that.”

 

“Like what?” Her sister scrunched her face a little.

 

“You know. One of those girls. The ones who just… know what to do.”

 

“You think I do?” her sister smirked.

 

That made Elise smile a little, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t used to being noticed, but the boy’s smile—crooked, uncertain—stuck in her mind even after she stubbed out the cigarette and they went back inside. She felt it follow her down the stairs. A ghost of attention.

 

They chose a spot tucked far away from the main shelves. Both girls homeschooled, both socially underwater in a world that thrived on surface.

 

Laptops out, a quietness swam between them—not uncomfortable.

 

Then a shadow. A voice.

 

“Hey.”

 

The boy.

 

Up close, he was taller. His hoodie smelled faintly of fresh laundry and weed. He scratched the back of his neck.

 

“Sorry,” he said, “I just—I noticed you on the roof. Thought you looked… I don’t know. Cool. Cute.”

 

Elise’s stomach twisted. Like a mix of fear and thrill. She wasn’t used to this. Boys didn’t approach her. Not since… Houston. 

 

A flash of memory: a boy when she was thirteen. Somewhere in Houston, Texas while visiting relatives. Sitting on a bench. His friend did the talking, but that boy was the one who stared at her like she was something beautiful and strange. She didn’t understand their thick accent then, not really. But she remembered the feeling — like for one flicker of a moment, someone saw her. Really saw her. No jokes, no jabs, no sideways looks. Just soft-eyed wonder.

 

That memory stayed with her, even after she forgot his name.

 

Elise gave this new boy her number.

 

He smiled. “Thanks. I’m Taye.”

 

“Taye,” she repeated, as if trying the name on for size. “I’m—”

 

“She’s taken,” her sister said flatly, not even looking up.

 

“I’m not,” she whispered.

 

~

 

They texted a lot after that. Mostly memes. Some real talk. Taye was awkward, but not in a bad way. He asked about her day, her thoughts, her favorite color. No pressure. Just… light. Warm.

 

Elise wasn’t used to it. It made her suspicious. Kindness usually came with an angle, didn’t it?

 

Still, she agreed to hang out.

 

She brought her friend Jade, a girl with fast eyeliner wings and a slow drawl. They’d met at a homeschool co-op last year—Jade was the only one who made group projects bearable. She talked back, smuggled gum in her sleeve, and called teachers by their first name. Elise had watched her from across the room for weeks before Jade finally said, “You don’t talk much, huh? Good. I like quiet girls.”

 

After that, they were inseparable.

 

Taye brought his buddy too, a chattier boy with blunt-rolling fingers.

 

They went to a vacant apartment. Smoked. Laughed. Talked about music and ghosts and dreams. The kind of nonsense that feels deep when you’re high.

 

They all met up again that weekend. Jade and Taye’s friend came, too. 

They hung out at the mall for a bit. Jade and Taye’s friend hit it off immediately—laughing too loud, trading joints in the stairwell. Elise pretended not to care that they were getting along so well. 

After a while, Jade peeled off with the other guy to get snacks. That left just her and Taye.

A little buzzed, they wandered outside the mall, a little ways down the street. Elise kicked a rock as they strolled, sipping a cherry Slurpee. She told Taye that she hated the cold and loved it at the same time. He listened like her words were scripture.

Then, as the sun dipped behind the buildings—

 

“I like you,” he said.

 

It wasn’t smooth. It was barely brave. His voice cracked a little. “Would you wanna go out?”

 

Her breath hitched. Not because she hadn’t expected it.

 

But because she had.

 

She smiled. Almost sorry. And almost real. “I… I don’t think we’d work.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I mean, you’re sweet. Really. But you’re just not…my type?”

 

She meant: You’re not dangerous. You’re not hard to get. You don’t make me feel invisible enough to chase you.

 

Taye nodded. Tried to smile. His eyes shimmered, and then—just a little—he cried.

 

Jade came jogging up a moment later, arms full of chips. “Don’t ask. He got distracted by a claw machine.” She glanced at Taye. “Whoa. Did I miss something?”

They left him there. She and Jade. Arms locked, laughing down the block.

 

“Did you see that?” Elise giggled, breathless. “He cried. Like a full-on baby.”

 

“Girl,” Jade cackled, “you broke him.”

 

“Like glass,” she smirked.

 

Years later, Elise sat alone in her small kitchen, one baby on her hip and another asleep in a stroller. She hadn’t showered. Her neck hurt. Her boyfriend—if she could even call him that anymore—was gone again.

 

The house smelled like diapers and dish soap.

 

Sometimes, at night, when it was quiet enough, she’d think about the boys. The one from Houston who couldn’t talk to her but smiled like she mattered. The one from the library rooftop, who said she looked cute without even knowing her name. Who cried when she rejected him.

 

Not because she missed them.

 

Not because either of them had been The One.

 

But because they’d been kind.

 

And she’d traded kindness for cool. For sharp jawlines, chaos, late nights that left bruises—both inside and out.

 

Her phone buzzed, but she didn’t check it. What would have been the point? She was tired of pretending those boys had never mattered. 

 

Her baby fussed. She bounced him gently, humming an old song she couldn’t remember the words to.

 

The light from the window stretched across the floor, soft and grey—just like the sky had been that day on the rooftop. 

 

Her phone buzzed again. This time, a friend request.

 

The profile picture showed a guy leaning against a wall, hoodie up, cigarette between his fingers. Sharp jaw. Clean smile.

 

She didn’t recognize the name. But…he was cute.

 

Curiosity won and she clicked.

 

A message came through a moment later:

 

Hey… You probably don’t remember me. I saw you once on a library rooftop. Just wanted to say you were the first girl I ever tried to talk to. Hope you’re doing okay.

 

Her chest went still.

 

Her baby stirred again. She looked down at him, then back at the message.

 

Without replying, she blocked and deleted his account.

 

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Loosely based on a true story.

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Photo by Steven Thompson on Unsplash. (Free to use under the Unsplash License)