The Girl Behind the Window

The Girl Behind the Window I first noticed her on a quiet Tuesday evening, the kind where the sky turns a soft lavender before giving up and fading into blue. I had stepped out onto my balcony with a cup of tea, hoping to unwind after a long day, when a warm yellow light flickered on in the building across from mine. A window opened slightly, and she appeared—sitting by the sill, knees pulled up, a notebook resting against them. She didn’t look around. Didn’t seem to care who noticed. She just gazed at the street below with this faraway calm, like she was listening to something only she could hear. I didn’t know what it was about her that caught my attention. Maybe the quiet. Maybe the way she looked like she belonged in that moment, framed by the soft light of her room. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and began writing, sometimes stopping to think, sometimes smiling at whatever thought danced across her mind. I told myself I wasn’t staring. I was just… observing. It became a habit faster than I expected. Every evening around the same time, the window would glow, she’d take her place, and I’d...