BEHIND HIS GLASSES 👓

BACK TO MAPLEWOOD

Chapter 1: Back to Maplewood

Chloe’s POV

Moving back to Maplewood felt like stepping into a time capsule I never asked for. Same neat lawns, same peeling fences, same neighbors who couldn’t mind their own business.

Mom was glowing, already fussing about how “fresh starts are good for us,” while Ethan—my annoying little brother—was sprawled on the living room floor with his game console like he hadn’t just had his life uprooted.

I sighed, dragging a box of my stuff up the stairs. My new room smelled faintly of dust and lemon cleaner, and when I opened the curtains, my stomach dropped.

Of course.

His window was still right across from mine.

Brad Williams.

The boy next door.

I hadn’t seen him in years, but there he was on the porch, half-hidden behind his glasses. A book in one hand, earbuds in, nodding faintly to music only he could hear. His hair was messier than I remembered, falling into his eyes as if he didn’t care.

For a second, he didn’t notice me. It was almost… peaceful. Like he really lived in his own bubble.

Then his head lifted. Our eyes locked.

And just like that, the bubble popped.

The corner of his mouth tugged up, not into a friendly smile, but into that same knowing smirk I used to hate.

“Chloe Peters,” he called lazily, tugging one earbud out. “Didn’t think you’d come crawling back.”

Ugh. Same old Brad.

“Trust me,” I shot back, gripping my box tighter, “if I had a choice, this neighborhood wouldn’t even make my list.”

He chuckled, pushing his glasses up with his index finger like always. “Still feisty. Guess some things don’t change.”

My face burned, but I rolled my eyes and marched inside before he could get another word in.

Hours later, after most of the boxes were stacked in corners and Mom had declared the kitchen “officially livable,” I escaped upstairs.

I should’ve closed the curtains, but curiosity gnawed at me.

I peeked out again.

Brad was still there, this time sprawled on his porch steps with a notebook balanced on his knee, scribbling furiously under the porch light. Every now and then, he’d pause, adjust his glasses, and tap his pen against his lips like he was lost in a world no one else could enter.

It was so… him.

Quiet. Withdrawn. A little weird.

And for some reason, I couldn’t look away.

I shook myself and yanked the curtain shut, muttering, “This is going to be a nightmare.”

But lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, one thought refused to leave me.

Brad Williams wasn’t just the boy next door.

He was the boy behind the glasses.

The one I swore I’d never care about.

So why did it feel like this story was about to begin all over again?