The light in her window turned on. Third floor. Cracked blinds. Dying plant.
I watched her silhouette. Still in work clothes. She moved to the window, pulled back the blinds, and looked out.
Right at my car.
I went completely still.
She couldn't see me. Tinted windows. Dark street. No way she could know.
But she stared for a long time, posture rigid, head tilted like she was listening.
Then the blinds fell closed.
The light stayed on another hour.
I sat there, not moving, barely breathing, watching her shadow move behind glass like a ghost in a lantern.
At 3:30, the light went out.
I didn't leave.
I sat until the sky turned gray, until commuters emerged, until the city woke and pretended the night never happened.
Then I started the engine and drove away.
But I would be back.
