Atraves De Mi Ventana Novels & Stories

Camela paused and tilted her head slightly as she whispered, “It’s right there in front of us…a wall.” Vincent stretched out his hand, and he felt a smooth, chilly surface. “You’re right,” he said cautiously. “It feels like... glass.” She pressed her palms against the surface. It felt smooth, hard, and unbroken. "Then this must be the window," she murmured. "Behind it on the other side is the rain.” Her father's voice echoed back, full of amusement. "You will never break it. That window represents the truth. You can press your hands, your lips, and your love against it, but what lies beyond will never belong to you."

Nat’s POV The evening air bites with a chill the sunny afternoon never has. Each gust through the cab's slightly open window feels like cold needles to my sinus, sending me into another sneeze. “Bless you,” the driver murmurs for the fifth time. I massage the bridge of my nose, muttering a thank you under my breath. My gaze drifts to the window, where beautiful, colorful streaks of lights spread, buildings piercing into the horizon. People pass by in vignette, their figures blurred, each in their own, different world.

I approach the window. The day falls slowly. The sky cries with me. And there, on the misty glass, something strange: A mark. A faint imprint, like that of a palm. Small. Delicate. I stare at it, frozen. I place my hand on it. It is cold, but the glass trembles under my fingers. And then, deep within me, a heartbeat. A presence. Fleeting. Fragile. But real. Not an illusion. Not a memory. Something else.

My gaze settled on the window! I dragged the trash bin closer and flipped it. It wobbled under my weight, but I braced myself against the cold wall. The window was narrow and painted shut. I pushed. Nothing. I shoved harder. Creak. The frame popped open just wide enough for me to squeeze through. I dropped onto a bed of gravel and swallowed a scream. Catching my breath, I pushed myself to my feet and limped my way around the property, toward the main road. My phone vibrated with another text.

A migrant airplane taxied across my view. I pressed my forehead to the window, closed my eyes and whispered, “I’m going to be okay.”

Thinking that sends a quick, sharp ache through me. Mera would’ve known. She was the one who handled things like that. I move slowly from window to window, pulling fabric across glass, trying not to spiral into irritation over the ridiculous number of panels. When I reach the last window on the west wall beside my bed, I hesitate. From here, I have a direct view of the small cottage next door. Into Carter’s place.

‎ ‎Right outside my window. ‎ ‎

I asked myself while randomly watching on the other side of the window. The sun rays went inside the room. The light directed towards my face, and I couldn't start staring at the air passing in front of my vision, which can be spotted clearly through my naked eyes. The leaves were swaying, and I can hear the birds chirping even though the transparent window was closed. I can't stop but go near the window, open it, and see more of the view.

Wilson…My Wilson All the thoughts running through my head halted at that moment. I dare say all my sadness and anger also vanished Everywhere blurred, everyone vanished but I could distinctively hear the singing crew sing ‘Young and beautiful’ ‘Dear Lord when I get to heaven, would you let me bring my man? When he comes tell him that you'll let him in……father tell me if you can…..’ That also faded into the background as I panicked turned to look at Wilson His eyes were red, puffy, sad, elated, hopeful….His eyes were a lot of things

That door is sealed shut. That thought follows me into sleep. The quiet feels peaceful—until it isn’t. I see Lucien standing outside my window. My breath catches. His eyes pierce straight through me, like he’s pulling apart every wall I built, knot by knot. He steps closer, and my heart drops in horror when he passes through the glass as if it isn’t even there. It doesn’t break. It doesn’t make a sound. His eyes never leave mine, not even for a second.