Since that time, I no longer climbed onto the rooftop. But Cloud still did, releasing paper birds to fly everywhere, checking if the seed had sprouted.

When Custas left, that fool gave us a seed, widening his bulging eyes, saying it was a magic bean. If given enough sun and water and careful care, it would sprout, grow tall, and reach the top of the sky. He gestured wildly, describing it with the conviction of a child telling a fairy tale. After he left, I had no interest in the seed, so I climbed up to the attic, threw it to Cloud, and said,

"You plant it!"

"Why me?" she asked.

"I don't want to plant it."

"Where should I put it?" Cloud squinted at the black, wrinkled seed.

"Anywhere."

"The rooftop?"

"Up to you!"

Cloud took a plastic cup used for drinking water, scooped three handfuls of soil from her basil pot, buried the seed, and watered it lightly. Then Cloud climbed the ladder to the rooftop, placed the cup on the crossbeam where we used to sit and stargaze, right next to the chimney.

I stayed silent downstairs, trying not to pay attention to the seed or whether it lived or died. I turned on the player, blasting loud, fast-paced music. But Cloud's voice was louder than the music. Around midday or late afternoon, she climbed down the ladder, poked her head through my window, and yelled loudly about the seed's status.

For a month now, the only thing she reported to me was, "It hasn't sprouted yet!"

I called the one above me Cloud because the first time we met, she was pale and wearing an oversized white shirt. Her eyes had a strange, indescribable shift that stirred something in me whenever I looked into them.

Cloud was sick, her skin white as boiled egg whites. She said she had a chromosomal mutation from the chemicals used in the civil war. When I asked what kind of mutation, she said she forgot. Cloud was very weak, her limbs as thin as dry twigs. We gave her the pulley to go up and down the chimney. Usually, if Cloud couldn't pull herself up in the wooden bucket, Custas and I would stick our heads out the window and help. Cloud would laugh loudly, waving both hands. From a distance, she looked fragile yet strangely lively. From above, Cloud resembled a piece of white cloth fluttering in the air.

Custas had slightly bulging eyes, sun-bleached hair, one leg tanned brown, and the other ending in an iron rod protruding from his pant leg. He said some kind adults from another country gave him the iron rod when he was staring at his bandaged leg in the clinic. The adults also sent cream-filled cakes for the children there. Custas received a cake wrapped in cellophane with red and yellow writing, and he cried, tears and snot dripping onto his bandaged leg. Since then, Custas loved cream-filled cakes. Other than these old stories, I didn't know much about Custas. Even later, when Custas left, I wasn't sure if I ever truly understood him. I only knew Custas was clumsy in everything he did, limping with his iron leg, but when he tasted a cream-filled cake, he was entirely focused. Custas often brought cakes for us. In return, I made up stories like "Once upon a time, a family of three lived happily ever after," and Cloud gave him withered flowers she collected from trips to the barren land at the edge of the settlement, dried them, and kept them in a box, cherishing them.

We conducted these exchanges on the rooftop, on the crossbeam at the top of two rusted tin sheets. One noon, I climbed up there via the iron ladder. I was astonished, looking down at the entire settlement, seeing a haze covering all the makeshift shelters. The ground was uneven, and in the distance, the fence marking the ceasefire zone was oddly curved. I looked up, the sun blinding, the sky endlessly blue. I felt like I was being drawn into that deep blue, my heart empty and filled by the wind. That first sight, the cloudless sky and the wind blowing through my hair, captivated me, making me feel like I was being pulled higher and higher, never reaching the end. That first mesmerizing sight left me stunned.

I shouted to the others:

"Hey guys! Come up here!"

Custas stuck his head out first, awkwardly climbed out the ladder, and up. Cloud craned her neck to look up, then scrambled out after. I helped pull her up. The wind was fierce. Our hair and clothes fluttered wildly, our skin stinging from the sun. Cloud stood inside, gripping the chimney's mouth. I stood in the middle, holding onto Cloud's shoulder and a tuft of Custas's hair. He straddled the outer zinc sheets, holding the edge. We looked at the ground, then the sky, eyes wide in awe as if standing before the gates of heaven: Wow!

From then on, whenever we felt like it, Cloud, Custas, and I would climb up and sit on the rooftop.

–

Basically, the three of us lacked everything. But somehow, we always managed to get what we wanted. Cloud and I worked together, slowly saving up. Before Custas left, I had an old record player, a few t-shirts that weren't too torn, and some small toys scattered around our "home." Cloud had lots of paper for folding little animals, old newspapers for pressing dried flowers, a comb, and a wind chime missing three of its five glass tubes. Cloud hung the wind chime by the window, letting it jingle softly...

Cloud loved plants, especially those with fragrant flowers or leaves. She was too weak to do anything other than grow plants. When she first moved in, her luggage included a bag of soil, three plastic pots, and three different seeds. When I climbed up to her place, I asked what they were. She replied simply, "Cilantro, basil, and bell pepper."

I sat with my knees drawn up, watching Cloud tend to them carefully. The seeds sprouted, growing leaves and branches. Every morning, I climbed up to Cloud's spot, watching her water the plants and loosen the soil with a tiny spoon. The sunlight created warm, elongated streaks. Cloud placed the pots in the sunlight. Then, the two of us sat silently, watching the leaves and branches tremble as they emerged from the seedlings. Slowly, so slowly that if you could see them move, everything else around seemed to freeze, even time.

When the cilantro had many leaves and the bell peppers bore fruit, Cloud pulled them up and bundled them into two plastic bags. She handed them to me:

"Sell these for me. We'll split the money."

I nodded, strapped the bags to a cord around my waist, and climbed down the ladder. I sold them to the haggard housewives. With the money, Cloud told me to buy more seeds, plastic pots, fertilizer, and soil from humanitarian shipments or black market traders. After selling cilantro and bell peppers, Cloud got four bluebell seeds and a tomato seed. The basil continued to grow in its white ceramic pot. We planted the bluebells and tomatoes. Cloud took care of their growth, while I handled the transactions with the rest of the settlement. In the mornings, I would go to Cloud's spot, daydreaming in the early sunlight at the young sprouts. Sometimes, I glanced at Cloud and saw her eyes filled with emotion, brimming with tears...

Those shifts in her eyes stayed with me, etched in my mind, impossible to erase.

I often heard the whine of planes and the swish of artillery over the settlement. On such nights, I couldn't sleep, often staying awake all night. The basil's faint scent drifted gently with the murmurs in the sky. Above, Cloud probably couldn't sleep either. The basil's fragrance woke us up. For no apparent reason.

Custas was a wandering musician. He played the guitar and knew a few country tunes. That was all I knew about how he survived. Most days, Custas left very early with his guitar bag and came back very late, panting heavily. Custas played in the dark, labyrinthine alleys below. In the late afternoons, when the air turned a sickly yellow, I would poke my head out and see him, his hair tousled by the wind, barefoot, and sunburnt. Custas clumsily climbed the iron ladder. I would laugh out loud. Many times, Cloud also peeked out, laughing cheerfully. She would let her long hair fall over her cheeks, baring her teeth, and wave her thin arm:

"Hey! Hey, you!"

Many nights, after the planes had passed, we would still climb onto the rooftop. We huddled together on the narrow, high ledge, but none of us were afraid. Not even Cloud. Custas would bring a cake, break it into three pieces, take the smallest part for himself, and evenly share the bigger pieces with Cloud and me. Hugging our knees, we would quietly nibble on the cake, gazing at the sky, dark and starry. Up here, the wind drowned out everything else. The wind embraced us, making me feel like I was dissolving into the vast night. Beside me, Cloud and Custas were also silent, looking around, craning their necks to gaze at the sky, letting the wind tangle their hair. The stars were so plentiful it seemed like you could grab a handful. Cloud once tried, reaching out with her thin arm. Then, disappointed, she pulled her hand back. Her already pale skin seemed almost white now, colorless and weightless. Cloud looked dejected. I glanced at Custas, seeing him stare at Cloud as if looking at a dream that could never come true. His bulging eyes lost all light, blending into the night.

Each time, I felt a pang in my heart. That deep pain lingered, making me restless. Later, I called it Sorrow, though I wasn't sure if that was its real name.

At some point, I found that the three of us were sitting very close together. Cloud rested her head on my shoulder, while I held Custas's shoulder. And so, with the planes still roaring across the sky, occasionally a flash of light would flare up beyond the fence, accompanied by a series of rumbles.

Then it would fade.

It was as if we were waiting for something, but we didn't know what it was or how to reach it. And so, we huddled closer, and I felt even sadder. The pain settled in my eyes and ears, making everything I saw and heard seem distant...

Usually, one of us initiated the climb to the rooftop. But it seemed the other two were always just waiting for that. It could be at night, under the scorching sun, at dawn, or at twilight, as long as all three of us were free. Cloud wasn't busy tending to her plants, I wasn't busy doing odd jobs below, and Custas wasn't busy strumming his guitar to cheer up the weary crowds. When one of us climbed the ladder to the rooftop, the noise would alert the other two. And without needing to be called, the other two would follow. The sound of climbing the ladder and scrambling onto the roof was unmistakable and special, like a fire alarm, creating an instant reflex.

The faint scent of basil and the sound of climbing were the signals.

Sitting up there, precarious in the open sky, I saw Cloud as a trembling white ribbon. Custas was like a silent stone, unable to speak, perpetually solitary.

Forever.

—

The war began at some point, but I don't know exactly when. By the time I became aware, people were already shooting each other wildly, and I couldn't tell the good guys from the bad ones, or if there were any good or bad sides at all. The country was fragmented into pieces, each controlled by a different faction with their own military forces and protective barriers. There were temporary occupied zones and strips of land designated solely for fighting. Outside the fence of our refugee area, there was a plot of land that used to be a battlefield. The soil there was incredibly fertile, enriched by decomposed bodies over the years. When I went to sell plants for Cloud, I often secretly asked people to collect soil from there, putting it into plastic bags and bringing it back at a high price. The land was currently disputed between two factions, and anyone caught there could be shot without question.

Since I was very young, I knew what fighting and killing meant. Surely, Cloud and Custas did too. The three of us grew up in chaotic cities, with bullet-scarred walls, bloodstains on the streets, meaningless anti-riot stickers, bomb craters, and military barricades blocking roads. There were countless sounds of men cursing, women wailing, and children crying every time a missile with a blazing tail like a falling star approached. After the shelling, houses were left as mere skeletal remains, desolate. Fighting on the battlefield wasn't enough; factions began sending agents into residential areas. Before I left for the refugee camp, I nearly died once when I ventured into a restricted area to retrieve my bicycle. That bike was later blown into the air, caught in the smoke and flames of a homemade bomb that exploded right behind our house. It was the bike I had begged my parents to buy from a second-hand store, and I had once vowed to cherish it forever.

Cloud mentioned once, vaguely, that they had even used chemical weapons. She said she wouldn't live more than three years because her immune system was weakening bit by bit.

–

Around that time, an announcement was made: all civilians wanting to leave the conflict zone had one week to reach the pre-established refugee camps. So, I left, telling myself I was just a lone blade of grass with no home to return to. I mingled with hundreds of thousands of people fleeing the cities on trucks and carts, heading toward the border, where there was a refugee camp near a neutral neighboring country. But when I was only halfway there, right at the base of this chimney, the announcement was rescinded.

Immediately, the factions resumed fighting.

At that time, the temporary camp was occupied by a new faction eager to join the war. They began leaving their territory, moving towards the combat zones. The tents and makeshift houses were abandoned. Refugees quickly occupied the vacant spots, the houses, and crowded into every alley.

It was then that I met Cloud and Custas. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, or from some hidden corner I wasn't aware of, suddenly coming into my view. The first thing Custas asked, honestly:

"You came here too, huh?"

"Yeah," I replied. Cloud nodded silently. Custas pulled a cream-filled cake from the bottom of his backpack, broke it in half, and gave each of us a piece.

"Eat it, I brought it along. You look hungry, right?" He looked at Cloud, who was wearing an old, oversized shirt. Cloud, with her head bowed, suddenly grabbed the cake and devoured it hungrily. I hesitated, then took the piece, biting it slowly. I hadn't even started crying when I burst out laughing at his tone and those bulging eyes staring at us.

"See? You really were hungry!"

And that's how we got to know each other amidst the dust and various smells: burnt odor, rust, the earthy scent of people and land. If I remember correctly, Custas was grinning widely.

What Custas meant to me, to Cloud, I'm not sure. Perhaps it would remain a mystery for the rest of my life.

I knew Custas was a kind and pleasant person, like Cloud. And poor, like both of us. Custas also had to struggle to survive. Besides the simple, silly things he said when we were on the rooftop, Custas was completely silent. Below my place, he only made simple noises of moving around, sighing, sneezing... things like that. He left the house early and returned when the sky was a dull shade of dark. Occasionally, he gave us sweet cakes. Sometimes he said goofy things while his bulging eyes stared like a snail's, making me laugh uncontrollably. Sometimes he grinned widely in response to Cloud's thin hand waving. Sometimes he poked his head in to watch me draw strange shapes with water on the floor. Many times, he admired the flowers and plants Cloud grew, nodding and saying, "Beautiful."

That was it; I hadn't even heard him play the guitar, nor had I ever ventured down to his place. We only met on the rooftop.

But when Custas left, I suddenly felt sad. Unbearably sad. The sadness dug deep into my heart, throwing everything inside out, leaving it empty. It was like the night sky had lost a handful of stars, leaving a dark void.

–

The most remarkable thing I ever knew about Custas was that one night, he climbed out onto the ladder but didn't come up to the roof.

I remember it clearly. That night, Cloud was crying. A lot. Because the sky was filled with glaring lights and loud noises. I was used to it; wasn't there always some sort of rumbling overhead every night? The conflict was still there, day after day, night after night.

The sounds and flashes that night, I couldn't tell what they were. Missiles. Airplanes. Bombs exploding? All I knew was that they were unbearably piercing. From far away, they drew closer, rumbling, then like a drill, they bored into my ears. I was dozing on the floor when suddenly, my eyes snapped open, my ears vibrating intensely.

There were many explosions and flashes of light in the distance. The chimney stood firm, but our three compartments shook with the tremors. I pressed myself flat against the floor. The rumbling from deep underground traveled up through the hollow core of the chimney to reach us. I knew, with certainty, as if it were obvious: There were other people, people trying to sleep through the torment of the night, people without a rooftop to climb for a small sense of peace. There were those who, a moment ago, were still breathing but had now stopped. They were somewhere beyond the marked fence, in an utterly ordinary air raid. They had died just as ordinarily as the people beside us in the past.

After the tremors subsided, I heard strange sounds from beneath me. Custas was playing the guitar.

I didn't know what song it was. It began with the lowest notes, then moved to higher ones, each note distinct yet part of a sequence, forming short intervals. He played a melody that was strange, slow, but at some point, it became unbearably bright. The tune was soothing, yet it stretched on endlessly, fluctuating between high and low. There were deep notes lingering beneath the clear, continuous high notes. I listened in a daze. I had never heard anything so beautiful. Suddenly, something stirred within me, something unformed and elusive, yet strangely familiar. A flow, a drifting cloud? I wasn't sure. The scent of basil lingered in the air. That invisible mass continued to swirl within me...

When Custas ended with the highest notes and a sharp strum, I was stunned.

For the first time, I felt such pain. It gripped my chest, blocking my lungs. My eyes were wide open. The pain was indescribable. It was a direct and familiar pain, as if it had been deep within me for many days and months...

Above me, Cloud started sobbing. Then louder, choking sobs. Cloud cried, in fits and starts. Her cries mingled with the scent of basil, hovering above my face. But I couldn't get up. I lay there, back glued to the floor, listening to Cloud cry. I couldn't breathe, cold sweat drenching me.

I heard Custas climbing out onto the ladder. At first, I thought he was coming to the roof, but he wasn't. Custas went to Cloud's place. She cried even louder, like a child abandoned in a graveyard. The night was pitch black, the scent of basil intense and haunting. Before my vision darkened, I heard a whisper from above.

"Can I hold you?" Cloud asked.

And so... I knew, I was all alone.

The next day, I climbed up to the roof while Custas was out and Cloud was still asleep. I looked at the horizon, where black smoke columns still marked the spot near where the sun was rising. I watched the stars fade, dissolving into the deepening blue sky.

The cold wind blew against my cheeks. I hadn't noticed when I started crying.

From then until Custas left, I had solo rooftop climbs like that, leaving him and Cloud behind. They stayed silent. Whether that was the right thing to do, I never judged myself. But I simply couldn't bear sitting with Cloud and Custas and feeling left out. Not even for a moment. I always remembered the echoes of that night, the haunting thoughts of what could be called the end-of-existence spreading and rooting in my heart. I looked at my arms and chest, still tingling with numbness. And then I realized: I wanted to be held so much!

One day after Cloud bought the wind chime with three of its five glass tubes broken, Custas climbed up to the rooftop. Cloud was about to hang the chime but stopped, climbing out with him instead. As an unshakeable habit, I followed them up.

On the rooftop, just as night was turning into day, Custas said:

"I'm leaving, guys!"

He held out the sweet cake, as usual, breaking it into three pieces. The two larger pieces for Cloud and me, the smaller one for himself. We ate the cake together. While I was still eating, Custas repeated:

"This afternoon, I'll be leaving here, going over there." He pointed to the other side of the marked fence, saying his family was there and they wanted him to join them.

"That's it. I really have to go."

Cloud sniffled, saying nothing. I was silent too, not knowing what to say. I kept staring at the other side of the fence but saw nothing there. Custas seemed confused by our reactions. After a moment, he said, in his usual naive tone:

"I want to be with my family. You do too, right?"

I had no family left. Cloud just shook her head slightly.

Then, Custas took a wrinkled seed from his pocket, lowered his voice, and with his bulging eyes wide, looked at us:

"Here, for you. It's a magic bean. Take care of it, okay? Just like you've taken care of the other plants! It'll grow, and reach up, higher and higher. Like this!" He stretched his arm up to the sky, shaking it to illustrate.

He looked at us again, intensely: "Live happily, okay?"

That was our last time sitting together on the rooftop, on a day when the sky was bluer and the wind gentler than ever before.

When Custas climbed down the ladder for the last time, he looked like a reverse image of the first time he climbed up. T-shirt, knee-length shorts, shoes with worn-out toes, backpack on his chest, and guitar bag on his back. Still awkward, still with the wind blowing his sun-bleached hair wildly. The only difference was that Cloud was intently watching him go, her face furrowed in concentration. I just stuck my head out for a moment, seeing him look up. Suddenly, I felt that Custas's big, bulging eyes were just two distant beans...

That day, I let go of a little part of myself, tossing it up into the sky for the wind to take.

I threw the seed to Cloud, thinking I wouldn't pay any attention to it anymore. I had my old record player and played music all day. I rarely went up to Cloud's spot anymore. In contrast, Cloud made the effort to hang down to my place, shouting at the top of her lungs:

"Hey! It hasn't sprouted yet!"

Perhaps deep down, I was still angry at Custas, angry for no reason. Since that night, I suddenly thought that maybe I had no reason to stay here, that I didn't necessarily have to be here. I didn't have to go up to the rooftop with Cloud and Custas. I didn't have to feel touched when Cloud waved. I didn't have to eat Custas's cakes. I didn't have to do this, I didn't have to do that...

And so it went, until I was exhausted and fell asleep. I didn't want to see the seed anymore, so when Cloud came down, panting, her skin pale, I didn't care. I was angry at Cloud just as much as I was at Custas. I was just angry, that's all. Even though usually, I wanted to be with her so much.

Until one day, Cloud slipped through the window into my place. She was wearing an oversized white shirt, her long hair falling over her cheeks, and she looked at me:

"Hey!"

I didn't answer, but blinked at her. Cloud's eyes had a strange shimmering, like stars at dawn.

"Are you mad?"

I shrugged.

"Don't be," she said, confused.

"I'm not!" I drawled lazily.

Cloud was silent for a moment, then held out a cream-filled cake. She frowned and said:

"He sent this for you!"

I was surprised, frowning: "When?"

"The day you climbed the rooftop alone." Cloud took a deep breath to speak louder: "When you climbed up, he had just reached the bottom of the chimney. He looked up and saw you. I went downstairs to bathe and met him nearby. He widened his eyes like this." She comically raised her eyebrows, looking ridiculous, "...and handed me the cake, saying: 'Give this to him, okay?' Do you get it? He knew you were sad. At that moment, I just wanted to hug someone, and he was there. If you were there, I would have hugged you. He heard me cry and was worried, just like when you're sad. Understand?"

Before I could gather my thoughts, Cloud continued:

"Hey! Can I hug you?"

I widened my eyes, feeling the wind and the faint scent of basil swirling around me. I saw the small tremors in Cloud's eyes. I nodded.

We hugged each other tightly. I felt her thin but sturdy bones and skin against my body. I remembered the lingering echoes of Custas's guitar that night. Suddenly, I sniffled. Cloud ran her fingers through my hair, gently making up for what Custas had missed. I felt filled up, by what I had once thrown away. This feeling was so comforting. To hold someone tight and feel myself shedding the broken pieces. There was a sense of peace tinged with the clarity of the air, like the wind blowing through the three of us on the rooftop. I cried, burying my head in Cloud's shoulder. She said:

"He told you to live happily, told us to live happily, remember?"

I nodded, still sobbing.

When I pulled away from Cloud, but kept my hand on her shoulder, I asked:

"And... the seed? It really didn't sprout?"

Cloud gently wiped my tears with her white sleeve, smiling widely, showing her teeth:

"Go up to the rooftop and see for yourself."

I climbed out the window, slowly ascending the ladder to the rooftop. The wind was strong. I felt shaky, but maybe it was just the excitement. And when I reached the edge of the chimney, I covered my mouth, my eyes stinging with tears.

On the crossbeam, next to the chimney, a plastic pot full of soil stood firmly, tied with wire by Cloud to keep it from falling in the wind. From the soil, a bean plant had sprouted, its broad, green leaves fluttering continuously with the rhythm of the gusts. There were a few tiny buds, covered with purple-green fuzz, trembling but looking resilient and unyielding. They peeked out from the lush green foliage. A small support made of two sticks tied with wire stood in the pot for the young shoots to climb. Just as Custas had said: It's a magic bean, it will grow to the very top of the sky.

Cloud had lied. The seed had lived. The plant had lived! But that no longer mattered. I felt truly alive before the bean plant, amidst the overwhelming expanse.

Why did it take such a meaningful moment for me to realize this?

I looked out at the distant horizon. Custas was on the other side of the fence. The rumbling of explosions and the sound of helicopter blades tearing through the wind still echoed. He was no longer with us. I blinked, my eyes blurry. Custas was far away from me and Cloud now.

I knew I cherished Cloud, so very much.

And I suddenly realized, I cherished Custas just as much...

-

In the days that followed, when the bean flowers bloomed, Cloud and I sat on the rooftop again. It was dusk. The wind still blew. The scent of basil was fragrant. I looked towards the horizon, lit up with the blinding flashes of explosions, watching the missiles fired in the distance, their tails blazing like shooting stars. Cloud rested her head on my shoulder.

"When the fighting stops, what will you do?" Cloud asked softly.

"Me?" I replied gently, gazing up at the night sky starting to twinkle with stars. "I'll wait for the bean plant to produce seeds. I'll take a small pocket knife and carve words on the shells, like 'I cherish you' or 'Live happily.' Then I'll sell those seeds in the refugee camp and even beyond the fence. I'll sell his magic beans until I have enough money to buy a new bicycle."

I wrapped my arm around Cloud, telling her that when that time came, I would take her on the bike across lands no longer ravaged by war, bringing along a big box of cream-filled cakes to call Custas out. Then the three of us would return to the chimney and sit on the rooftop again. Cloud laughed, a clear, pure sound.