They were seventeen years old and it was very windy on the rooftop.
He pushed open the iron door and saw a girl smoking in the corner. She has long hair and scars all over her hands. She doesn't like to talk or laugh, and her eyes are like a pool of stagnant water when she looks at people.
He is a well-known playboy in school, and he can change his girlfriend faster than his sneakers. He shouldn't have come near her.
But he went to the rooftop for the second, third, and hundredth time. He brought her milk, bread, and books she loved to read. He kissed the scar on her arm and fumbled at her tears when she cried.
He thought, I can cure her. She believed it.
