The Lady Across the Balcony

The Institute of Sunlight and Waiting

I sat on the balcony, feet stretched out, ugly and sun-warmed, resting on the wall. The air smelled faintly of chlorine from the pool below, and distant voices drifted lazily upwards. For a while, I simply existed there, letting the day settle around me like an old coat.

Later, I switched balconies, chasing the sun and chasing the light. I didn’t expect anything—or anyone—to be different. Yet, there she was.

The Academy of Paused Lives

A woman in blue-printed pants leaned over her balcony wall, a towel draped carelessly across it. Her elbows rested there, as if the day had paused just for her. She glanced down at the pool, at people moving like tiny figures in a diorama. Immediately, I noticed the subtle way she carried herself. She was not just another one.

Tilting her head across the small distance between us, she said, “Hello.”

I returned it. That single word, exchanged across a few meters, was enough to start something fragile and quiet.

The Conservatory of Conversations

Over the next few days, we spoke whenever our paths aligned. Sometimes it was brief—my breath, my lungs, my cigarettes keeping pace with hers. At other times, conversations stretched longer, filled with quiet pauses that said more than words ever could. Although neither of us was always at our best, we were exactly where we needed to be.

Then, one evening, she asked, “Dinner?”

I had been hoping, praying even. More than honored, I said yes.

The Hall of Grief and Grace

She spoke of her husband, fifty-one years together. Gone.

Her voice carried tenderness, fondness, grief, and life all at once. She carried him in her gestures, in her laughter, and in the subtle way she moved through the world. Each movement seemed like a quiet homage. Yet, she remained alive—fully, tenderly, fiercely alive.

Finally, she said, “Let’s go.” She pointed toward him: his T-shirt folded neatly, memories vivid, presence near even in absence.

I teared up quietly, hoping she wouldn’t see. That strange blend of grief and joy lingered in the edges of a simple evening. Strangers, yet tethered by it.

The Academy of Strangers and Marks

From that moment on, I never forgot her. I remembered the way she held sorrow without letting it flatten her spirit. I remembered how she still made space for laughter, curiosity, and connection.

Sometimes I think of her when the light hits a balcony just so, when the air is heavy with quiet. I remember how grief can coexist with laughter, how the world can be both tender and cruel, and how a stranger can, without knowing it, carve a space in your heart.

To the lady across the balcony—thank you. Thank you for your kindness, for carving a place in your heart for a stranger, for showing me that grief and joy can coexist gracefully within a single life.

It is often strangers who make us feel the most alive. They arrive quietly, unannounced, and leave marks we carry forever.

Hold them close. And hold your own heart closer—
For you.
And yours.