He stands next to the sill and views the pavement eight storeys below. He’s been here before, on the edge of consideration, though never when feeling quite this fulfilled. In the past he’d always imagined hurling himself down, his vision ending just prior to the splash. But today is different. He’s figured out how to let go of just a piece of himself: his loneliness. He steps up and releases it. It falls uncertainly, unsure of its own matter. A brick? A feather? Something in between, it trumbles and sails, first ignoring the wind and then embracing it.

By the time his elevator reaches the ground, a crowd has assembled. Soon, police and other emergency workers arrive. They outline the “tragedy” in chalk. He stares at the happy splatter, singles out shapes from his past: the loves lost by poor judgement; the ones who left through no error of his own; the one who passed while he slept next to the hospital bed. He wonders if they’re obvious to the onlookers, or if he is the solo keeper of the secret stretched out before their feet.

He looks at their faces, each of them turned down. He searches for recognition, sympathy, understanding. He spies a girl on the opposite edge to him, her body oozing ripe empathy. She holds a library book. He tilts his head to read the title, but can’t. She looks up. They lock eyes. She gestures down, then towards him, asking: Yours? He nods. She smiles at his good fortune.

They get a window seat in a cafe across the road. She orders pasta. He gets a salad. Occasionally, they glance over to where he’d given his loneliness away, what happened still a mystery to most of the onlookers. When the crowd splinters, it does so slowly, and almost always in pairs.  While they wait for their food, he puts his elbows on the table and listens intently to the woman’s voice. He can’t contain his grin as he imagines the future, when the whole city leans in, buildings and all, to witness their first kiss.