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He took your hand as the sun set and led you up the stairs. You didn't know where, and you didn't ask—you simply followed him. The view from the rooftop took your breath away. The city below was ablaze with thousands of lights, the hum of the traffic muffled, as if from another world. And in front of you sat a small table covered with a blanket, with a couple of candles flickering softly in the evening air. A thermos of tea, two mugs, and nothing else. He let go of your hand and looked at you, as if waiting for you to speak. You remained silent, looking at the lights, the candles, his face. "I can't take you to an expensive restaurant," he said, and there was no apology in his voice, only calm confidence. "But I can show you around the city." You smiled and moved closer, looking at the lights that stretched to the horizon. The blanket was warm, the tea was sweet, and you didn't want this evening to end. You knew that this moment, this city, this person—these were the most precious things that could ever be.