THE TOWER

He never offered. She never asked. Some tragedies don’t scream—they just fall quietly

She met him when the building was already on fire.

No fire alarms. No sirens. Just heat that built and built until it was everywhere. She’d been climbing for years, not realizing she was rising through smoke. By the time she reached the top, there was nothing left to do but jump.

He came in like a breeze. Polite. Soft-footed. No alarms. No ladder.
She liked that about him.

They talked like people who knew their lines, but not the plot. She smiled. He nodded. They shared coffee like strangers at the end of a funeral—no questions, no sudden moves.

He never once mentioned the smoke.
She never mentioned the way her shoes were melting through the floor.

He watched her often. From the safety of his distance. Hands in his pockets, like he was waiting in line for something he wasn’t sure he wanted.

She tried not to notice.
One morning—quiet as breath—she stepped over the edge.
There was no note. No scream. Just the fall.

He stood where he always did, eyes tracing her descent. Thought about the way her shadow moved across the sidewalk. Thought about how she hadn’t looked back.

It never occurred to him to catch her.
It never occurred to her to ask.