The Sixth Language

Lina Laurent never needed the alarm to ring twice.

By the time the first note echoed through her apartment, she was already reaching for the switch beside her bed. Dawn still hid beyond the curtains, leaving the room wrapped in soft blue shadows. She stretched, tied her curls into a loose knot and padded barefoot towards the kitchen.

The kettle clicked on.

While the coffee brewed, she unlocked the balcony door just enough to let the cool morning air wander inside. Somewhere below, a delivery scooter buzzed through the quiet streets of Levent. The city wasn't awake yet, but it was thinking about it.

That was her favourite time.

Coffee in one hand, sketchbook tucked beneath the other arm, she climbed the final flight of stairs leading to the rooftop.

She settled into the same corner she always chose, where the low wall framed the skyline without blocking the horizon. Beyond the rooftops, the first streaks of amber slowly dissolved into the pale morning sky.

No photograph had ever captured this city the way it deserved to be remembered.

So she drew it instead.

The first lines always came quietly.

A rooftop, a chimney, or the silhouette of a minaret in the distance.

Then the light changed which always happened before she was ready.

Lina smiled to herself, lifted her coffee, and chased the sunrise with her pencil.

When she paused to sharpen it, her eyes drifted across to the penthouse on The Horizon tower.

The balcony lights were still on, didn’t matter the time or day, they were always on.

She had lived across from the tower for nearly two years and couldn't remember a single time when that penthouse had disappeared into darkness like everyone else's. Whoever lived there either hated electricity bills a great deal less than she did or had forgotten light switches existed altogether.

She clicked her tongue.

"What a waste."

With a small shake of her head, she returned to her sketchbook.