"Figures," I muttered, then glanced back at her. "By the way… how do you even manage to change into your suit during school hours?"
She laughed again, soft and unguarded. "Trade secret," she said lightly, then relented. "I usually wear it under my clothes. It's thin enough that no one notices. On days I can't, I keep it packed and ready. Timing, planning, escape routes — it's basically an art form." She gave a small wink. "You'll learn."
I smiled. "You make it sound like a club."
Bella nudged me playfully as we leaned against the balcony railing. "You know," she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips, "most guys would probably be staring at me like I'm some untouchable celebrity right now."
I shrugged, tossing her a grin. "And look at me—I'm not most guys."
Her laugh was soft, genuine, and a little surprised. "You really are… different," she admitted, her eyes meeting mine with a rare openness. "It's weirdly nice to just… talk to someone who treats me like I'm a person, not a headline."
I leaned a little closer, keeping my tone casual. "Well, I'm glad someone around here appreciates normal conversation."
She shook her head, smiling, but there was a softness to it that lingered longer than the words. Somehow, in that moment, it felt like the start of something that wasn't just coincidence.
Her expression shifted as she checked her watch, the playful edge easing into something calmer. "It's late. I should get some rest."
Before I could answer, she caught the railing pole and swung back to her balcony in one clean, practiced motion. She landed quietly, then paused at her glass door. When she turned back, the teasing spark was gone — what remained was simple and sincere.
"It was nice," she said softly, "talking with someone who doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass."
I huffed a quiet laugh. "You're definitely not."
Her smile lingered — warmer now, almost relieved — as if that was exactly the answer she didn't know she needed. Then she slipped inside, glancing back once more before the light framed her silhouette and the door slid shut.
"Goodnight, Bella," I murmured to the empty air.
The city hummed below, the night stretching wide above me, but the space between the balconies didn't feel quite as empty anymore. Somehow, without trying, we'd met in the middle — no masks, no titles, no pedestal. Just two people talking. And for reasons I couldn't explain yet, it felt like the beginning of something that would matter.