Five Minutes on the Ledge

The wind clawed at her coat as Mira stood on the ledge, ten stories above the street. Her boots rested against cold concrete, toes barely curled over the edge. Behind her, the city buzzed with its usual disinterest—cars honking, a siren screaming somewhere far off, the hum of a world too busy to notice her.

The clock on the opposite building read 4:58 PM.

Mira took a breath. Her fingers twitched by her sides. The sun was sinking fast, painting streaks of gold and crimson between the towers, but the warmth of it couldn’t touch her now. She thought about how light lies. Sunset always looked beautiful, but it was really just the world turning away.

Below, the streetlights flickered on. Shadows lengthened.

4:59 PM.

"Hey!"

A voice. Male. Closer than she expected. She didn’t turn.

"Don’t do that," the voice said, softer now.

Mira closed her eyes. Her hands balled into fists. The ledge was barely wide enough for her boots, yet somehow it felt too solid beneath her. Like it was daring her to try.

"Go away," she said.

"I can’t."

"You should."

A pause.

"I’m not going to."

She sighed. "Why? You don’t know me."

"No," he said, "but I can’t walk past someone on a ledge and pretend I didn’t see. That’s not how I’m built."

5:00 PM.

The minute struck like thunder. Mira imagined a second hand moving with a tick loud enough to shatter glass.

"You don’t know what I’ve done," she said.

"Maybe not," the man replied. "But whatever it is, you're still here."

A breath passed. Then another.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Mira."

"Hi, Mira. I'm Jacob."

She didn’t respond.

"You don’t have to say anything," Jacob added quickly. "I just… thought you might want someone to know your name. In case."

"In case," she echoed, her voice flat. Her gaze stayed fixed on a billboard across the street—some smiling couple selling toothpaste, caught in a moment of perfect, oblivious joy.

"I used to come up here to think," she said, surprising herself.

Jacob stayed quiet.

"Back when everything wasn’t so… loud. I’d sit right there—" she pointed to the stairwell hatch behind her without turning "—and watch the sky change. That used to be enough. The color of the clouds. A breeze. You know?"

"Yeah," Jacob said. "I do."

"Then life just… got bigger. Heavier."

Jacob took a careful step forward. Not too close. She heard the gravel crunch under his shoes.

"I lost someone," she whispered. "A year ago today. And it never stopped hurting. Just got quieter. Then louder again when no one was looking."

"I'm sorry," Jacob said.

Mira swallowed. The wind carried the scent of car exhaust and fried food up from the street. Somewhere, a dog barked. She wondered if it would all go away once she stepped off. The noise, the ache, the pretending.

"You ever stand on the edge just to see if you’d feel something?" she asked.

"I have," Jacob said. "Not like this, maybe. But yeah. I’ve been there."

5:01 PM.

"You’re not trying to talk me down, are you?"

"No," Jacob said. "I'm trying to be here with you. For however long you let me."

Mira blinked. A tear threatened, but she didn’t let it fall. Not yet.

"Everyone always wants to fix it," she said. "Or fix me."

"I don’t want to fix anything," Jacob said. "I just don’t want you to be alone up here."

A breeze shoved her coat open. She shivered. Ten stories up, even the wind seemed colder, more honest.

"You know what's stupid?" she asked.

"What?"

"I left the kettle on."

Jacob let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Well, now I’m definitely not letting you jump. That’s a fire hazard."

Mira’s lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

"I didn’t plan this," she said. "It just… happened. I was walking home, and my feet brought me here. Like they remembered before I did."

"That happens," Jacob said. "Sometimes we return to the places that held us once."

She turned, just slightly. Enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. Early thirties, probably. Brown coat. A face that looked like it had seen some things and hadn’t looked away.

"You’re calm for someone who found a stranger on a rooftop," she said.

"I'm scared," he replied, "but I figure you don't need my panic on top of yours."

5:02 PM.

"I used to be strong," she said. "Or I thought I was."

"You’re still here. That counts for something."

"Does it?"

Jacob nodded. "It does to me."

Silence settled like dust. The wind calmed. The city dimmed.

"You’re really not going to leave?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Even if I just… stay like this?"

"I’ll stay with you as long as it takes."

Mira looked down again. The ground was far, but the sky felt farther. Still, Jacob’s words clung to her like an anchor.

"Do you want to sit?" he asked.

She hesitated. Her legs were shaking. She hadn’t noticed before. Her knees weak with exhaustion. With the weight of standing still.

"I… yeah," she said.

Slowly, carefully, she stepped back from the edge. Her boots scuffed the ledge as she turned. Her knees buckled slightly. Jacob stepped forward, hands out—not touching, just ready.

She sank down onto the rooftop gravel, back against the concrete wall, chest heaving. She didn’t realize she was crying until the tears hit her hands.

Jacob sat beside her, not too close.

5:03 PM.

"You’re not alone, Mira," he said.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

For now, she just breathed.

And stayed. They sat in silence as the city lights brightened, chasing the sun's last whispers off the rooftops. Mira's breathing had steadied, though every now and then it hitched like her lungs were still remembering how.

Jacob hadn’t moved much. Just sat beside her, sometimes watching her, mostly looking at the skyline.

“You hungry?” he asked eventually, voice gentle. “I know a diner a block from here. Greasy fries. Terrible coffee. It’s perfect.”

Mira let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You trying to bribe me with terrible coffee?”

“Would it work?”

She glanced at him, eyes still red but less distant. “Maybe.”

He stood slowly and offered his hand, not assuming she’d take it—but it was there. A gesture. Not rescue, not pressure. Just human contact.

She hesitated. Then took it.

Her fingers were cold. His were steady.

They climbed down the fire escape instead of taking the stairs. It felt quieter that way, somehow more honest. The night was deepening, and Mira felt every step like it was a decision. But they were hers.

When they hit the sidewalk, the noise of the city pressed in again—buses wheezing by, someone laughing too loud down the block. But it didn’t feel quite as sharp. Maybe because someone was walking beside her this time.

“Do you do this often?” she asked, eyes forward.

“What? Rooftop heart-to-hearts?”

She smirked. “Exactly.”

Jacob shook his head. “No. Just felt like the right place to be.”

They reached the diner. Fluorescent lights buzzed. Inside, it smelled like oil and toast and the kind of coffee that eats through styrofoam. Mira slipped into a booth, and Jacob slid in across from her.

“So,” he said, sliding a menu her way, “you staying?”

She looked at him. Then around the room. Then down at her hands.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think I am. At least for another coffee.”