The city of Lumora never slept. Its streets buzzed with the hum of taxis, the chatter of late-night crowds, and the pulse of neon signs that painted the night in electric hues. But above it all, on a quiet rooftop tucked away from the chaos, Elise Harper stood alone, her sketchbook pressed against her chest. The wind tugged at her auburn hair, pulling strands loose from her messy bun as she stared at the sky—or what little she could see of it. The city's lights drowned out the stars, leaving only a faint smudge of constellations, like a half-forgotten dream.
Elise sighed, her breath forming a soft cloud in the chilly October air. She'd come to the Lumora Observatory's public stargazing event on a whim, hoping to find inspiration for her next painting. Her latest pieces—vivid swirls of color meant to capture the cosmos—felt flat, lifeless. She needed something real, something that would make her heart ache the way it used to when she painted. But the sky above Lumora was a traitor, hiding its secrets behind a veil of artificial light.
"Figures," she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Even the stars are too busy for me tonight."
She glanced at her watch: 9:47 p.m. The event was supposed to start at 10, but the rooftop was nearly empty, save for a few early arrivals milling about near the telescopes. Elise wandered toward the edge of the terrace, where a low railing separated her from a dizzying view of the city below. Skyscrapers glittered like jagged teeth, their reflections shimmering in the river that wound through Lumora's heart. It was beautiful, in a cold, untouchable way. She opened her sketchbook and began to draw, her pencil scratching out the city's silhouette with quick, practiced strokes.
"Careful," a voice said behind her, low and steady. "That railing's not as sturdy as it looks."
Elise startled, her pencil skidding across the page. She turned to find a man standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of a navy coat. He was tall, with dark hair that fell slightly over his forehead and eyes that caught the dim light like polished obsidian. There was something quiet about him, like he carried the weight of a secret he hadn't shared in years.
"Thanks for the heads-up," Elise said, her tone dry. "But I'm not planning to test gravity tonight."
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Good call. The paperwork for falling off a rooftop is a nightmare."
She raised an eyebrow, closing her sketchbook. "You sound like you've got experience."
"Not personally," he said, stepping closer to the railing but keeping a respectful distance. "But I've seen enough clumsy astronomers to know it's not worth the risk."
Elise studied him, her curiosity piqued. He didn't look like the typical observatory crowd—no oversized scarf or pretentious glasses. Just a simple coat, a pair of worn boots, and an air of quiet confidence that made her feel oddly exposed. "You work here?" she asked.
He nodded, glancing at the sky. "I'm one of the astronomers. Julian Kane." He extended a hand, then seemed to second-guess himself, letting it drop back to his side. "You're here for the stargazing?"
"Elise Harper," she replied, mimicking his nod. "And yeah, I guess. I was hoping to see… something. Anything, really. The city's not exactly cooperative tonight."
Julian's gaze followed hers to the sky, and for a moment, his expression softened. "It's not the city's fault. Light pollution's the real culprit. Makes it hard to see what's out there." He paused, then added, almost to himself, "But there's still beauty if you know where to look."
Elise tilted her head, intrigued by the way he spoke—like the stars were old friends he hadn't seen in a while. "And you know where to look?"
"I try," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "The telescopes help. Want to see?"
She hesitated. Part of her wanted to retreat to her sketchbook, to the safety of her own thoughts. But there was something about Julian's offer—simple, unassuming—that made her nod. "Sure. Show me."
He led her toward one of the telescopes, a sleek black instrument perched on a tripod. The rooftop was starting to fill now, with small groups of people clustering around other telescopes, their voices a low hum against the city's noise. Julian adjusted the lens with practiced ease, his fingers moving with the precision of someone who'd done this a thousand times. "This one's pointed at Andromeda," he said, stepping back to let her look. "It's the closest spiral galaxy to ours. About two and a half million light-years away."
Elise leaned forward, pressing her eye to the viewfinder. At first, she saw nothing but darkness. Then, slowly, a faint smudge of light came into focus—a swirling, ethereal glow that seemed to pulse with secrets. Her breath caught. "That's… incredible," she whispered, pulling back to look at Julian. "It's like it's alive."
He smiled then, a real one, small but genuine. "It is, in a way. Stars are born, they live, they die. Just like us."
Elise felt a pang in her chest, unexpected and sharp. She turned back to the telescope, not wanting him to see the way his words had stirred something in her. "You talk about stars like they're people," she said, keeping her tone light.
"Maybe they are," he replied, his voice soft. "They've got stories, too. You just have to listen."
She glanced at him, caught off guard by the wistfulness in his eyes. For a moment, the noise of the city faded, and it was just the two of them, standing under a sky that refused to reveal itself fully. Elise wanted to ask him what he meant, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she stepped back from the telescope and gestured to her sketchbook. "I'm an artist," she said, almost defensively. "I came here to find something to draw. But I don't know if I can capture… that." She nodded toward the telescope.
Julian tilted his head, studying her sketchbook like it was a puzzle. "Can I see?"
Her instinct was to say no. Her sketches were private, raw, a window into the parts of herself she kept hidden. But his question wasn't demanding—it was curious, almost gentle. She hesitated, then flipped open the book to the page she'd been working on: the city's skyline, jagged and bold, with a faint hint of stars above it.
Julian leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers for a fleeting moment. "This is good," he said, his voice quiet but sincere. "You've got the city's edge, but there's… hope in it, too. Like you're waiting for the stars to show up."
Elise's cheeks warmed, and she closed the sketchbook a little too quickly. "It's just a rough draft," she mumbled. "I'm still figuring it out."
"Aren't we all?" he said, and there was a weight to his words that made her wonder what he was figuring out, too.
Before she could respond, a cheerful voice cut through the moment. "Elise! There you are!" Maya Torres, her best friend, bounded toward them, her curly hair bouncing under the observatory's lights. "I've been looking everywhere. You didn't tell me this place was so cool!" She paused, noticing Julian, and her eyes lit up with mischief. "Oh, hello. Who's this?"
Elise groaned inwardly. "Maya, this is Julian. He's… showing me the stars."
"Julian, huh?" Maya grinned, nudging Elise's arm. "Well, Julian, you should know Elise is a genius with a paintbrush. You should see her real work, not just her doodles."
"Maya," Elise hissed, her face flushing. "Can you not?"
Julian's lips twitched again, that almost-smile she was starting to notice. "I'd like to see more of her work sometime," he said, his tone neutral but his eyes lingering on Elise.
Maya's grin widened, but before she could embarrass Elise further, an older man in a tweed jacket approached, clapping his hands to get the crowd's attention. "Good evening, everyone!" he called. "I'm Dr. Nathan Cole, director of the Lumora Observatory. Welcome to our stargazing night! Let's dive into the wonders of the universe, shall we?"
The crowd murmured in excitement, and Julian stepped back, his professional demeanor slipping into place. "Duty calls," he said to Elise. "But if you want to see more, find me later. I'll show you Saturn's rings."
Elise nodded, her heart doing a strange little flip. "Maybe I will."
As Julian walked away to assist Dr. Cole, Maya grabbed Elise's arm, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, who was that, and why are you blushing?"
"I'm not blushing," Elise snapped, though she could feel the heat in her cheeks. "He's just… nice. And he knows about stars."
"Uh-huh," Maya said, smirking. "Nice. Sure. You've got that look, Elise Harper. The one you get when you're inspired."
Elise rolled her eyes, but as she glanced at Julian across the rooftop, explaining something to a group of kids with that quiet intensity of his, she couldn't deny the spark of something new stirring inside her. For the first time in a long time, the world felt a little brighter—like a star had flickered to life, just for her.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of telescopes and stories. Elise sketched furiously, capturing fragments of the sky and the people around her. Julian's words echoed in her mind: There's still beauty if you know where to look. By the time the event ended, her sketchbook was filled with new ideas, and her heart felt fuller than it had in months.
As she and Maya headed toward the exit, Elise caught sight of Julian near the door, adjusting a telescope. He looked up, and their eyes met for a brief, electric moment. He raised a hand in a small wave, and she returned it, her lips curving into a smile she couldn't suppress.
"See you around, Star Guy," she murmured under her breath, stepping into the cool night air.
The city of Lumora stretched out before her, its lights still drowning the stars. But tonight, Elise didn't mind. She'd seen a glimpse of something real, something worth chasing. And maybe, just maybe, the stars weren't as far away as she'd thought.