Chapter 22: The figure in the window

The night had been quiet, and the soft hum of the city seeped through the windows. I was sitting by the window, sipping the last of my tea, my reflection faintly merging with the lights outside. Then, as if drawn by some unseen pull, my gaze drifted toward the opposite building.

At first, I thought I was imagining things. But no, there it was. A figure just frozen in place.

A tall silhouette stood still, framed by the glow of an apartment window. The posture was so familiar it made my stomach twist. The way the person stood slightly leaning to one side, hands in pockets… it looked just like Michael.

Maybe I was overtired. Maybe it was the light, or my mind playing tricks.

“Not tonight,” I muttered under my breath, brushing off the thought. I turned from the window, grabbed my phone, and opened TikTok.

The videos rolled, laughter, music, and chaos on my screen and soon my heartbeat steadied. I let the noise drown out the silence of the room. My eyelids grew heavier by the minute until I could barely keep them open.

Setting my phone aside, I slipped into bed. The blankets felt warm, but that faint unease still sat in the back of my mind. I turned one last time toward the window. The figure was still there. Watching.

The curtain swayed slightly from the night breeze, and I closed my eyes, forcing myself to sleep.

The next morning, the sunlight cut through the curtains, golden and sharp. I felt groggy, but I forced myself out of bed. My body ached, and I didn’t know why, maybe from exhaustion.

I brewed coffee, the rich scent filling the air, and started cleaning. The quiet rhythm of it soothed me, dishes clinking, mop against the floor, the hiss of boiling water. I took a sip of the hot coffee, standing by the counter, trying to shake off the strange heaviness from last night.

By mid-morning, I headed to the restaurant. I had paperwork to sign, suppliers to call. The hum of people chatting, the aroma of baked bread, and the distant clinking of cutlery filled the air, comforting and ordinary.

But halfway through signing invoices, I felt dizzy. My head throbbed, and the words blurred on the paper.

“You okay, Ms. Rose?” one of the waiters asked.

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Just… a bit tired.”

I finished what I could and left early. The sky outside was already painted in shades of peach and gray. I just wanted to lie down.

When I got home, I kicked off my shoes, tossed my bag on the couch, and was about to curl up when a knock came at the door.

Knock. Knock.

I frowned, straightening. “Who’s that?”

“It’s Michael,” came the voice, muffled but unmistakable.

My heart skipped. I hesitated for a second, then opened the door.

He stood there, casual jeans, a gray hoodie, his usual calm smile. “Hey. I was passing by and thought I’d check on you. You look pale.”

“I’m okay,” I said softly, leaning on the doorframe. “Just not feeling too well.”

He nodded, holding up a wicker basket wrapped in clear paper. “I brought you something. Tea, fruit, some chocolate… it’s nothing big.”

“That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You should rest,” he said, eyes scanning my face. “You’ve been working too much.”

“I’ll try. You can come in for a bit.”

He stepped inside, placing the basket on the counter. The soft scent of fruit filled the air. He didn’t stay long, just chatted a bit about the new coffee shop opening down the street and some restaurant gossip.

After a few minutes, he stood up. “Alright, I’ll let you rest. Take care, okay?”

“I will,” I said, walking him to the door.

As soon as the door closed behind him, my phone buzzed. Sean.

I smiled weakly and answered, my voice quiet. “Hey.”

“Where are you?” His tone was calm, but there was something probing beneath it.

“At home,” I said. “I’m not feeling well today.”

There was a pause, then his voice softened. “I’ll come over.”

“Sean, you don’t have to”

“I want to,” he said, cutting me off.

It wasn’t long before I heard his knock.

When I opened the door, there he was, dressed simply, but even in casual clothes he looked effortlessly put together. His eyes immediately scanned the room, and when they landed on the basket, his brows lifted.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, that—” I started, but he was already walking over.

He picked up the tag. “From Michael,” he read aloud, his jaw tightening slightly.

“He dropped it off earlier,” I explained. “He was just checking on me. That’s all.”

Sean looked at me, eyes narrowing. “You know he has a crush on you, right?”

I blinked. “What?”

He set the basket down, folding his arms. “Rose, it’s obvious. The way he looks at you. I don’t like it. Stay away from him, please.”

His tone wasn’t harsh, just protective.

I nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay away from him.”

That seemed to ease him. He took a deep breath, loosening his collar a little. “Good. Now sit down. You look exhausted.”

I slumped onto the couch. “I feel terrible.”

He frowned, brushed a hand across my forehead. “You’re warm. Maybe a fever.”

Before I could protest, he rolled up his sleeves. “You’re not moving. I’ll handle dinner.”

I chuckled softly. “You? Cook?”

He smirked. “You will see.”

From the couch, I watched him move around the kitchen like he owned the place. The sound of chopping, the smell of sautéing garlic, it all felt strangely domestic. When he finally brought over a bowl of soup, I smiled.

“Please feed me?” I teased weakly.

“Gladly.”

He scooped a spoonful, blowing on it before bringing it to my lips. His touch was gentle, eyes soft but steady.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s good.”

He smiled. “I’ll go grab some medicine, I'm coming back! "