Above the restless city, Mara found a forgotten rooftop: cracked terracotta pots, an empty water barrel, and a view nobody stopped to notice.

She carried one wooden planter upstairs, filled it with dark soil, and pressed a handful of sunflower seeds beneath the surface.

For weeks, nothing seemed to happen, but every evening she returned with her blue watering can while the windows below began to glow.

Then a storm arrived, bending the first green shoots, and Mara sheltered the little planter beside the old brick chimney until the wind passed.

By morning, the leaves were battered but upright; she added bamboo supports and discovered a tiny yellow bud turning toward the light.

Summer opened the rooftop into gold, with tall sunflowers, bright tomatoes, and bees moving between the blossoms as the city hummed far below.

Mara set a second chair beside her own, left the rooftop door open, and watched a neighbor arrive carrying a small pot of mint.

The skyline had not changed, but the roof had become a place to stay: one small garden, and enough room for someone else.