The city was famous for its views. Every building rose in tiers, and the higher you lived, the more seriously your words were taken.
At the top lived the Planners. They spoke of patterns, trajectories, outcomes. From below, their voices sounded wise.
Liora lived at street level. She watched people negotiate doorways, misunderstand each other, invent new gestures when old ones failed.
One day she was invited upstairs.
From the balcony, the street looked orderly. Predictable. Legible.
“Now you see,” said a Planner. “This is what it really is.”
Liora shook her head. “No,” she said gently. “This is what it looks like from here.”
That night she returned to the street and began teaching children how to look across rather than up.
Slowly, the city grew more doors than floors.
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