Semua Bab Obsessed With My Neighbor: Romantic Collection : Bab 11 - Bab 20

It was Saturday morning, the kind of morning that felt too quiet for the city. The hum of distant traffic came in waves through my window, mixing with the faint sound of someone’s radio in another apartment. I’d been watering my plants, it was the one ritual that made my small living room feel alive — when I saw him.Mark stood on the sidewalk below, sunlight catching on his hair like something deliberate. He wasn’t alone.A woman stood beside him, angled slightly toward him in that familiar way people do when they know each other well. Her laughter rose softly enough that I couldn’t hear it, but I could see it in the way her shoulders lifted, the way her head tilted back. Mark said something I couldn’t catch, and she reached out to touch his arm . It was brief, natural, unthinking.My hands froze on the watering can.It wasn’t jealousy, not immediately. It was something slower and heavier like the quiet ache you feel when you watch a window close just before you reach it. I told myse

The envelope sat on the counter for hours before I finally touched it.It was the plainest thing—off-white, no name, no return address, the kind of stationery you could buy anywhere. But the handwriting stopped me. They were small, deliberate letters, each stroke careful and patient. It felt familiar in the way a voice on the other end of the phone sometimes does: you can’t place it, but you’re sure you’ve heard it before.I made tea I didn’t drink. Walked from window to window. Told myself it could be a mistake, meant for another apartment, slipped under my door by accident. Yet some quiet instinct whispered that it wasn’t.When I finally tore it open, the paper gave a soft sigh.Inside was a single page, folded once, faintly creased, carrying the faint scent of dust and something warmer like paper left near sunlight for too long.The handwriting matched the envelope.I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, the letter began, but I keep thinking about the small moments that go unseen.

I woke with the sunlight spilling across my bedroom floor, the faint hum of the city seeping through the blinds. For a moment, I forgot where I was, and then the memory of last night returned like a spark catching fire: the soft light in the bar, the low piano music, his laughter echoing in the space between us.I stayed in bed longer than necessary, letting the memory settle over me. My mind replayed every word, every glance. I remembered the way he had tilted his head at one of my offhand comments, that small smile that seemed to reach his eyes before it reached his lips. I remembered the subtle shift when the bartender dropped a glass behind us, how we both had flinched just slightly, and how that tiny shared moment had felt like a secret.Even as I tried to convince myself it was nothing, the memory clung stubbornly. I could almost hear his warm voice in the quiet room, teasing, full of that unspoken understanding that made every ordinary sentence carry weight. Maybe that’s not a

For three days, I didn’t see him.The city went on as if nothing had shifted, as though that morning outside the café hadn’t left me unraveling in slow motion. The world resumed its rhythm. Trains came and went, people hurried past one another, the air filled with ordinary noises and still, I couldn’t shake the awareness that somewhere in it all, he existed, moving through his own quiet patterns.It was strange how someone could occupy your mind so completely without even trying.I caught myself looking for him in places I knew he might appear. Near the lobby, on the walk to the corner store, across the courtyard at dusk. Every time a door opened or footsteps echoed behind me, my chest lifted, waiting for his voice.But it wasn’t him.Until it was.It happened one late afternoon. I had gone downstairs to collect a package. It was something I didn’t even remember ordering. The lobby was dim, that golden hour light slanting through the tall windows. And there he was.Mark stood near the

I had never been inside someone else’s apartment with such quiet anticipation. The door swung open, and Susan greeted me with a certain warmth that made the rain-soaked streets behind me feel like a distant memory. The room smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, faintly of fresh bread and something floral. It was the kind of cozy that made you want to stay indefinitely, even when you knew you had errands to finish.“Come in, dear,” she said, brushing her hands over the counter. “I hope you don’t mind, I might have gone a little overboard with the pastries today.”I smiled, stepping inside. “I would hardly mind. They smell amazing.”Susan led me to the kitchen table, where there was an assortment of muffins, scones, and tiny tarts arranged on a tiered tray. The sunlight was spilling through the window hitting the plates just right, catching the sugar on the pastries and making everything glow. I could hear the faint drip of rain somewhere beyond the panes, a gentle rhythm that seemed to sl