Window Fellow {pt.1}

Happy Thursday, lovelies! As I mentioned in my Camp NaNo April updates, and again in my May recap, I wrote a short story on a whim and I'm rather pleased with how it turned out. And now y'all get to read it! A chapter a week, every Thursday, starting today.

Hope y'all enjoy! <3

I walked that route every single day during my sophomore year of college. And, until yesterday, he was always there. 

Come to think of it, a lot of things about that year were routine. Every morning, I tumbled out of bed, donned the randomest outfit I could find, and played with my hair just enough to make the messy curls look intentional. Then, I brewed a pot of coffee and poured it into a tumbler mug with nearly as large a capacity as my skull. With a patchwork-patterned messenger bag over my shoulder, crammed full of textbooks and study notes, I was ready for the day. 

Staggering down the stairs from my above-a-coffee-shop apartment, I waved a cheery ‘good morning’ to Mr. Phelps who always managed to be swapping the sign at the front of his store to ‘open.’ It didn’t matter if I was ten minutes early (rare) or ten minutes late (common)—he was always there. 

I would breathe in the morning air, sip my coffee, and thank the Lord above for another day to be lived to the fullest. Then, at the corner of 5th and Maple while waiting for the bus, I would wave at the good-looking fellow in the second-story window of the house across the street. 

Because he was always there. Part of my routine like he was supposed to be. Dependable, you know. 

Until yesterday. 


*


I still remember the first day that he was there. I was waiting for the bus, shoulder hunched forward and hood hovering over my eyes. It didn’t really matter—the rain got in anyway. 

I turned away from the main road where the bus would soon come to creaking, grinding, water-spraying halt—and I looked across the adjacent street to the cute little house that sat there.

I’d looked at the house before, but never really had time to study it. Now, I did study it, in detail.  It had an aura of belonging, origin, and peace. Like it had always been there and would always be there, because that’s the way some things are meant to be. 

A harsh phase of raindrops hammered down on my head, knocking my hood down into my eyes. Not wanting to remove a hand from my cozy pockets, I jerked my head backwards. The hood lifted from my eyes, but a stream of water splattered down into my face. 

As I did, my gaze caught with a pair of eyes from the second story of the house I’d been admiring it. A person—a young guy, it appeared—was watching me through his raindrop-streaked window. And he was laughing at me. 

Not knowing what else to do, I laughed with him. 


*


From that day on, he was always at the window when I came by. Rain or shine, early or late. He became as much a part of my routine as Mr. Phelps, and coffee, and barely-passable physics grades. 

Sometimes he waved first, sometimes I did. Other times, we just smiled and nodded and went on about our days. 

After a few months of this routine, on the first day that lent evidence to the suggestion that spring may actually be on its way, the fellow was sitting at the window—the window that was open for the first time ever. 

Hand over my eyes, I squinted through the morning sunshine. This was definitely not part of my routine, but he didn’t look like a creepy stalker, so I was chill with it. 

“Good morning!” 

“Good morning, yourself.” 

I laughed. He sounded as jovial as he looked, arms propped on the windowsill.

“What’s your name?” 

“Annalyse. Yours?” 

He shook his head, smirking and grinning at once if that’s even possible. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you.” 

“How do I know you’ll be here tomorrow?” 

He shrugged, then held his hands palm-up. “I’d say we have quite the pattern going.” 

“Every pattern has been broken.” I actually wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but it sounded intelligent and philosophical so I went with it. 

“Then I guess we’ll have to be the exception.” 

I was more focused on his usage of the word ‘we’ than the obvious fact that I’d be taking this route every day for the foreseeable future—or until graduation. 

I sighed, the rumble of the bus catching my ear. “You’ll tell me your name if I’m back tomorrow?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked and ducked his head in what I guess was supposed to be a bow, then withdrew to the inside of the window. 

Barely resisting a snicker, I gave a little wave and turned back toward the street to wait for the bus. I could nearly feel his gaze on my back, but the bus came before I had time to cast a discreet glance upward. 

I boarded the shaking, rumbling, death-trap of a bus and took the first available seat. The middle-aged lady in the side next to me huffed at my boisterous entrance and rolled her eyes at my mismatched attire. 

But I only smiled in reply. I had a window friend, and tomorrow I would learn his name. 

Life was pretty darn good. 


*