A fleeting memory of the boy next door playing with my imagination as shadows in my mind
The window of my past; and drawn to a moment in time where childhood curiosity used to lie.
There across the street, I can see the grand house of our architect neighbor. They have a two-storey house with wide, French-styled windows with creamy-white colored paint that seemed to stand out in the pastel-peach colored wall.
The sun's red-colored rays were peeking from the horizon and reflecting the hues of sunset from the glass-paned windows.
I held my gaze as if hypnotized by the play of hues and colors on the reflection on the window across the street. The darkness caught me by surprise; how come the sun's light was here but a few moments ago, and now, suddenly replaced by the artificial light of the street lamp a few meters away?
Our neighbor were not that too close to our family, in fact, I don't even know their names. Just the fact that their name plate says their family name and business -- "Architect" -- and nothing more. I hear rumors, here and there about what they do and who are in their household.
And I was intrigued by their eldest born.
A boy. Apparently, his bedroom is right across my bedroom -- and just a street's span away.
At the onset of night, his bedroom lights would turn on and I would see his thin, lithe silhouette from my thinly curtained window.
There was nothing out of the ordinary in what I can see -- except, sometimes I catch him also gazing outside his window.
Would I dare think that he is also looking at me?
Would I fear him thinking that I am looking at him?
The nights give that wind and flutter in my heart, of avid expectation, of anticipation -- a dream? Nay, it would be a wild daydream to say the least, as we are worlds apart.
I don't even know is name, let alone his age and who he really is underneath that style and glam; I am but a lowly daughter of a simple office worker.
But still, I dream.
I dreamed the "What if I's..."
What if I had the courage to say a word or two -- or even a simple "Hello," when I do chance upon him on the street? (Dare I say, I felt like stalking him a few occasions from his walk to and back from the local market place.)
What if he had the same level of curiosity that I had been fostering for a few months then? Would we had the chance to know each other to a level of building a friendship, or even more?
Have either of us had the courage to breakthrough the barrier of awkwardness and clumsiness -- would there be a moment to ask, "Are you looking at me through your window across the street?"
Or would we succumb to embarrassment and have the cat grab our proverbial tongue?
Might there been more that just the passing glances and secret stares from across the street?