Unbounded

How every evening, he would anticipate her panes waking up, her fingers gently tapping the frame, where he would imagine where he was instead, beside her, getting a glimpse of everything from her perspective, opening her room's full bodied window.

He would opt to hide every morning in the shadows of his own room, as a result of being in waking for the whole night, until the morning chirps of the sparrows beckon him to call it a day (or night). His bed, now streaked with the morning rays coming from his grilled windows, with lights from the sky seemed hesitant, of whether to accompany him or not.

The woman through the other window, although he had the chance of knowing her name, he would not dare mention it, would move between the small square panes of her now open windows. Shadow fleeting by, it's a most peculiar feeling.

[…]

As the rain was easing to a slight drizzle that night, the man's hands were damp with cold sweat. His knees could barely hold him as he crawled from the bed to the floor and tried to stand up to take his final peek.

[…]

Between the streaks of the faint raindrops he saw the silhouette of flowers on a vase, placed quaintly, right in the middle of her window frame.

He swears they were tulips.

xxx