Writing has always been my channel for expression and communication. I always want to tell the whole world what I feel, but the world is not cooperating. I applied in many different writing jobs with my best stories but they do not want me. I guess I have to do writing all by myself. Anybody can write, but you can choose not to write at all. In my case, I have no choice. This is my only friend and without it, I feel like a lifeless, non-existent being.
I am an orphan and I live alone in this empty, giant house. My father died in a plane crash. He was a pilot while my mom was a doctor, and she died from a contagious disease when I was only 17 years old. Some of my relatives told me I can stay with them but I choose to stay in our house. They did not insist but they said they will check on me and send some money while I'm still looking for a job. So, here I am in this house that I don't call home anymore. I do not walk around the neighborhood because I prefer to be just alone.
I always stay in my room with a window facing straight to one of the windows of the neighbouring family. The one who owns that room is the only daughter of the family, Leonor. I am seeing her from the window now and she is sewing something. I noticed she is not orderly because she leaves her things everywhere. I am not stalking her, but it just happens that I look outside the window everytime she stays in her room.
Its noontime and I am sitting by the window again thinking of a good story to write. My thoughts are still blurry. I write titles but I reject each one by one. I have no idea what to write, until there she is again in her room and she is staring blankly at the window. She looks sad and lonely, until tears fell from her eyes. I think I am starting to feel sad for her. I wonder what happened, but maybe, she misses someone. I know what that feels. An idea hit my mind. Perhaps, I could try writing a story about her.
I didn't know she is a perfect subject for a story. It feels like I know her for a long time. When I see her, I write everything that she does and what she might be feeling. It is 11 in the evening and her lights were already off when it was still 10. I know she is sleeping, but suddenly, she opens the curtains of her window and turns the lights on. She is writing something on a blank sheet of paper and I am very surprised that her eyes meet mine. Nobody else lives here except me so I am sure she is looking in my eyes. She shows me what she wrote a while ago. It says,
"WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU STALKING ME?"
I grab a piece of paper from my drawer and write a message with a marker saying, "I AM YOUR NEIGHBOR AND I AM NOT STALKING YOU. SORRY, YOU MAY SLEEP NOW. I show it to her and she starts writing again after she reads what I wrote.
"OKAY!" and she closes her curtain while putting her paper at the window.
Is she angry at me? But anyways, I could write what we just did in my story. I am kind of happy because she notices me. I write beautiful words about her. Everytime she looks by the window our eyes always meet and I cannot help but admire at her lovely expressions. Sometimes she smirks, sometimes she smiles awkwardly, sometimes she raises her eyebrows and sometimes she cries. I am glad my ideas and words are simultaneous. There are a lot of things to say about her. Now, I wish I could see her up close, but how do I say it?
She starts writing messages again and today her first message is, "CAN WE MEET TOMMORROW AT THE PARK?" What will I say? She wants to meet me. That means she is interested with me. I feel happy but anxious at the same time. What will we do when we meet? Am I going to tell her I am writing a story about her?
"OF COURSE. 3 IN THE AFTERNOON. IS THAT OKAY?"
"YEAH. SEE YOU!" and she smiles. I put a grin on my face. Tomorrow is the day. How do I tell her everything? How? I am staring blankly at the ceiling now. My thoughts are filled with "hows" and "whats". I think I like her. My heart beats fast, but I am afraid she will reject me the way I rejected my previous titles. I really want to see her so whether I doubt or not, I still should meet her. I want to hold her hands and tell her she is the story I have been writing. She is the greatest story I ever wrote although I'm not done yet.
It's half past two and at three, I will get to see her face to face. I am sitting in one of the benches in the park. I know I'm too early but who cares, I am excited. I see her already walking toward my position. Now, she is very close to me. She is smiling and then she asks, "MAY I SIT BESIDE YOU?" I nod my head. I still do not know what to do. She reaches her hand to me and tell her name," I'M LEONOR AND YOU ARE?"
I use my hands to make gestures for her to know that I cannot speak. I cannot tell her my name. "HEY! ARE YOU OKAY? WHY ARE YOU NOT TALKING?" I want to leave now but I don't like to disappoint her. "ARE YOU DEAF? OR MAYBE YOU JUST CAN'T TALK?" I am dumbfounded. I am mute. I hope she understands what I mean. I just sit still but I am sweating really hard. She stares at me without saying anything. Her eyes look confused and somehow irritated. So I stand and run away from her and she just remains seated. I should not be doing this but my feet just keep going.
I am writing what just happened while waiting until she opens her curtains. I know she is upset with what I did. I want to talk to her if only she would allow me. I want to tell her I like her. My words are gloomy. I am angry with myself. I was being a coward. What now if I am mute? I do not care whether she would like me or not at least I told her. While I am thinking what she might have felt, she opens her curtains and shows a message, "YOU ARE MUTE? RIGHT? SORRY." I did not hesitate to answer her "NO,IT'S OKAY. I AM SORRY. " and then she smiles. I think we're okay now. I smile back and write "CAN WE BE FRIENDS?" and she answers "YEAH, WHY NOT?"
This is the happiest day of my life since my parents died. I finally have a friend except my paper and pen. I want to know her even more. This is the first time I go shopping to buy some chocolates for a girl. I hope she likes chocolates. On my way home, I think too much of her that I forget to look at the traffic signs. I cross the street without looking from left to right. The next thing I know, I am dying. My blood spilled on the street and people circle around me. I can hear the ambulance and some people trying to carry me. I close my eyes and all I can see is her face, and everything is growing dim.
My relatives sold our house and some of our furniture. They found my story on my table. They read the story and think it is good to publish it in memory of me. They showed it to the authorities and it underwent some critiques and editing. They printed the story and entitled it, "THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD." My relatives gave it as a present to the girl I dedicated the book to, Leonora. When she read what I wrote, she cried. She went to my grave and said, "I SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU EARLIER THAT I LIKE YOU."
