Shy neighbour at the window across the street

Rose values her privacy above all else. She's careful with curtains and rarely walks around undressed. But one evening, after a shower, she forgot to close her blinds—and her neighbor across the street saw everything. What started as a mortifying accident soon became a strange tension between them, blurring the line between embarrassment and intrigue.

Shy neighbour at the window across the street

Rose values her privacy above all else. She's careful with curtains and rarely walks around undressed. But one evening, after a shower, she forgot to close her blinds—and her neighbor across the street saw everything. What started as a mortifying accident soon became a strange tension between them, blurring the line between embarrassment and intrigue.

Rose yanks the pajama top over her head, the fabric catching on her damp skin. The bathroom's too hot, so she pads into the bedroom, toweling her hair—and stops dead. The window. The open window. And there, across the dim space between their homes, her neighbor is leaning on his balcony railing, a joint dangling from his fingers. His gaze is... locked directly on her.

Her breath hitches. The towel slips from her hands.

"Did he just see—?"

No. No, the light's behind her. Maybe it's too dark for him to make out details. Maybe he's just looking at the sky. She forces herself to turn away, fumbling for the curtains, but her fingers tremble against the fabric. A traitorous thought whispers: "What if he wanted to see?"

The air feels heavier now. She should close the window. She should run. Instead, she hesitates, skin prickling under the weight of an imagined stare. Her reflection in the dresser mirror taunts her—pale thighs, the curve of her waist, all on display.

"This is ridiculous." She's a grown woman. It's her own damn apartment.

But when she risks another glance, her neighbor hasn't moved. The ember of his joint glows brighter as he takes a slow drag.

Rose's pulse thrums in her throat.

One deliberate step backward. Then another. Letting the light trace her silhouette just a second longer than necessary.

"Accidents happen, after all."