Semua Bab Obsessed With My Neighbor: Romantic Collection : Bab 21 - Bab 30

I didn’t expect to see him again so soon.The air outside carried the faint chill of early winter, that kind that settled softly on skin but left the heart restless. I’d gone downstairs to collect a package, I was still distracted, when the elevator doors opened — and there he was.Mark.He stood there with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his posture casual but composed. For a moment, neither of us moved. The world around us blurred — the echo of heels in the lobby, the rustle of mail — fading beneath the quiet hum of awareness that rose between us.“Hey,” he said, his voice was easy, like we’d met in this kind of quiet a thousand times before.“Hey,” I echoed, stepping into the lobby.The doors closed behind me with a soft hiss, and I found myself smiling. It was the polite kind at first, then the involuntary one that always seemed to come when he looked directly at me.“Long day?” he asked.“Something like that,” I said. “I think I’m becoming a professional at pretending to

The morning was quiet in a way that made every sound seem amplified. The city’s usual rush was softened by the chill that settled into streets and corners, leaving only the occasional gust of wind or the faint scrape of tires on wet asphalt. I wrapped my coat tightly, shoving my hands into the pockets as I balanced a tote bag and my travel coffee mug. It wasn’t the kind of morning I’d usually enjoy because of the early meetings, email chains, errands but there was a certain promise in the crisp air that made me pause, just for a second, and take it all in.The elevator doors slid open just as I reached the lobby, and there he was.Mark.He was standing near the mailboxes, casually scanning his phone, the way people do when they’re waiting for something unremarkable but don’t want to admit they’re idly passing the time. The coat he wore looked like it had been chosen quickly. It was dark, soft and practical but somehow, in that simplicity, he still drew my attention the way he always d

Sunday morning arrived with soft sunlight spilling over the rooftops, turning the streets golden. I left my apartment with a quiet excitement, one I hadn’t felt in a long time, gripping my tote bag and coffee cup a little tighter than necessary. Today was the market — the small, weekend neighborhood gathering Mark had mentioned and I was both curious and hopeful.The market stretched along a side street lined with white tents and colorful awnings. Vendors displayed everything from fresh-baked bread to hand-painted ceramics, jewelry crafted from glass beads, and stacks of local books. There was a hum of energy in the air of laughter, conversations, the occasional bark of a dog weaving between shoppers. Yet, amid all this, my attention remained focused on one possibility: Mark.I wandered past the stalls slowly, pretending to browse, though my eyes kept scanning the crowd. I spotted families, couples, friends laughing together — the rhythm of life in motion and then, finally, I saw him.

I spent most of the afternoon pacing my apartment, though I told myself I was tidying up. The note Mark had slipped under my door after the market had been brief. It had just been a few words about quiet moments feeling less empty but it had stayed with me, lodged somewhere behind my ribcage. It wasn’t just the words themselves, but the thought that he had written them. That he had thought of me in that way.Then, as the sun began to soften in the late afternoon, my phone buzzed. There was a simple text.*I’m cooking tonight. There’ll be too much for one. Join me? —MI stared at the screen for several long seconds. Too much for one. That simple phrase carried warmth, thoughtfulness, and… an invitation. Not just to dinner, but to a small moment in his life, shared, intentional. My fingers hovered over the screen before I typed back, almost on instinct:*I’d love to.By six, I was standing in front of his door, twisting the strap of my bag with my hands, my heart picking up pace with ea

The sunlight came in soft ribbons through the blinds that Saturday, pooling golden light across my kitchen floor. I’d just finished a second cup of coffee when my phone buzzed with a message from Mark.*You busy today? I could use another pair of hands. I promise it’s not heavy labor, its mostly sorting chaos.I smiled before I even finished reading it. His humor had a way of disarming me. It was understated but familiar.*Sorting chaos sounds like something I’m oddly good at, I replied.*Then it’s a date, came the quick response, followed by, Not a date-date. Unless it is?I laughed quietly to myself, shaking my head as I set my mug in the sink. “Not a date-date.” It was exactly the kind of message that would keep me thinking about him all morning.By the time I reached his apartment, I could hear faint music playing through the door — something jazzy and low. When he opened it, the warmth inside contrasted sharply with the cool spring air behind me.“Hey,” he said in a smooth and so