Ch 5: My next-door neighbour!

Loving a girl twice my age might sound absurd, but as Jaime Lannister once said, "We don't get to choose whom we love." Love is a remarkable force, transcending age, class, and circumstance.

I met her by accident. And that accident gave me a purpose.

One day, while playing cricket on the terrace with my brothers, something caught my eye. Across the open window of the building next door, I caught a glimpse of someone.

She was a fine woman in her late twenties, while I was just stepping into my teenage years.

She was intelligent, elegant, and effortlessly beautiful. But what truly captivated me weren't just her looks—it was the little things. The way she adjusted her glasses, her sweet gestures, her quiet presence. There was something about her that felt almost cinematic.

From that day on, I made it a habit to go to the terrace, stealing glances whenever I could. The fact that she was my next-door neighbor was an advantage—I could observe her right from my floor without being too obvious.

But there was one moment that changed everything.

It was sunset. The golden light of the fading sun fell upon her hair, giving it a soft, ethereal glow. A gentle breeze swept through the city, playfully lifting her locks as if nature itself was celebrating her beauty. She was completely immersed in her book, lost in a world of her own, undisturbed by the chaos around her.

And then, as if in slow motion, she adjusted her glasses, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a grace I had never seen before. It was a sight straight out of a romance novel.

From that day on, I couldn't stop myself.

I continued to observe her—whether from the terrace or my balcony—careful never to be noticed. But deep down, I knew the truth: I would never have the courage to approach her. Not only was she much older than me, but I was also far too naive to even imagine such a thing.

Still, I couldn't help but daydream.

I imagined a world where we were the same age, studying in the same class. In that world, I was her best friend—the person who made her laugh with my jokes, the one she confided in. In my mind, I was the man of her dreams.

But reality had other plans.

One sunny afternoon, while I was on the terrace, secretly watching her from the corner of my eye, something unexpected happened.

She looked up.

Our eyes met.

I froze, my heart nearly stopping. It's over, I thought.

But instead of scolding me or looking away, she smiled.

And then she waved.

"Hi!" she called out cheerfully.

I was stunned. She saw me. She acknowledged me.

Before I could even process what was happening, she spoke again.

"I've seen you at school," she said.

And just like that, a sweet, unexpected connection was formed.

From that day forward, whenever our eyes met, we exchanged greetings—sometimes a nod, sometimes a wave, but always with a warm smile. Slowly, our brief interactions turned into conversations. They were never long, but they were meaningful.

Through those moments, I learned that she was in her second year of college. She, on the other hand, found my shyness amusing. She liked my humor, often using playful nicknames related to it whenever she talked to me.

Then came the night of the function.

Our building was alive with music and celebration. People were dancing, completely lost in the rhythm of the songs. I wasn't really dancing, but my head and hands moved along with the beat, enjoying the moment in my own way.

And then, I saw her.

She was watching from her window, curious about the commotion.

The moment our eyes met, I felt an overwhelming shyness wash over me. My movements slowed. I hesitated.

Then, to my surprise, she called out to me.

I rushed to the edge of the terrace, answering her from across our buildings.

People talk about long-distance relationships, but ours was something else entirely—an in-between-two-buildings relationship.

She liked my timid nature, my quiet sense of humor. And for the first time in my life, I felt truly seen.

---

One day, after school, I came home and immediately glanced toward her window. But she wasn't there.

I waited.

And in a restless attempt to fill the silence, I did something reckless.

I sent a flying kiss in her direction.

And just then—she walked in.

She saw me.

My heart nearly burst out of my chest.

For a second, I thought I had ruined everything. But instead of reacting with shock or annoyance, she gave me a sweet smile.

I panicked. Without thinking, I ran inside, avoiding eye contact for days.

But she didn't let that be the end of it.

She was the one who initiated our next conversation, as if nothing had happened. As if my silly, impulsive gesture hadn't changed the dynamic between us.

She often complimented me—telling me how sweet I was, how she liked the way I talked. And for a young boy like me, hearing those words from someone I admired meant everything.

But, as always, time had its own plans.

Days passed. Then weeks.

And one day, she was gone.

Our servant, who also worked for her family, was the one who told me the news.

She was getting married.

I didn't know how to react. I didn't even know what I felt.

I only knew that the window I had once stared at every evening was now just an empty frame.

The room she once occupied, the place that had unknowingly become a part of my life, was now vacant.

But what remained was the memory of a sweet, innocent connection.

Maybe it was never love.

Maybe it was just affection—the kind that makes a young heart beat faster, the kind that leaves a mark, even when time takes everything else away.