The Knock on the Window

Part 1: The Unexpected Glance

It was a typical evening as I walked home, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the street. I was minding my own business, headphones in, music softly playing when I noticed two figures ahead. A guy and his friend were walking side by side, chatting and laughing. They looked carefree, completely at ease with the world around them.

I didn't pay much attention at first, but as I drew closer, something made me look up. The boy—he was tall, with broad shoulders and dark, tousled hair—suddenly turned around. His gaze locked onto me, and before I knew it, he leaned toward his friend, giving me a quick once-over.

"Look at that," he said, his voice loud enough for me to hear, "niceness for you." His words hung in the air like a challenge, and I could feel my heart race. My stomach flipped, uncomfortable under the weight of his attention.

I immediately crossed to the other side of the street, hoping to distance myself from the awkwardness. But before I could get too far, I heard him again, this time much louder, as if he wanted to make sure I heard: "Damn, you're very attractive."

I felt my cheeks heat up, my steps quickening as I tried to ignore him. The last thing I wanted was to be caught in an uncomfortable situation with a guy I didn't even know. But something about the way he spoke—it was like he knew exactly what he was doing.

The next few days, I couldn't get the encounter out of my head. It kept replaying in my mind, his words echoing. I didn't expect to see him again, but fate had other plans.

A few weeks later, I was out walking when I noticed a woman on the street. She was directing workers, overseeing the construction of a house just a few doors down from where I lived. I wasn't paying much attention until I saw the boy again. He was standing by the construction site, talking to someone. I froze, my heart skipping a beat. It hit me like a brick: that was his mother. I hadn't known they were connected. His family must be building something there, and the realization left me stunned.

Still trying to shake off the nerves, I didn't think much of it until the next time I was walking with my friend. We were heading to the store to grab some essentials, and as we passed the same area, I couldn't help myself. My eyes scanned the street—and there he was again—standing just outside a restaurant, talking with his friend. My pulse quickened. My friend noticed I was looking, but when I tried to point him out, she didn't seem to see him.

"Where?" she asked, glancing around.

"There!" I said urgently, pointing toward him. She followed my finger but didn't catch sight of him. The anxiety was starting to get the better of me. I wasn't sure why I was so nervous, but I knew that if he saw me, it would be even worse.

But as we turned to leave, we passed by again, and this time I couldn't hold it in. "There, right there!" I said, practically dragging my friend's arm toward the window. I could see him clearly now—he was with his friend, standing by the glass. His eyes locked onto mine the moment I looked, and to my surprise, he knocked on the window.

Knock knock knock.

The sound was jarring, and I felt the heat rush to my face, my heart pounding in my chest. It was like he was calling me out, forcing my attention. I could feel my hands tremble as I tried to look away, my instinct kicking in, telling me to run before I made the situation worse.

Without thinking, I yanked my friend away from the glass and bolted down the sidewalk, my feet moving faster than I ever thought possible. I didn't look back.

It was all too much, too fast, and for once, I just wanted to disappear into the night, away from the boy and the strange pull he seemed to have on me. But I couldn't shake the feeling—he wasn't done yet. And neither was I.