Books Like Through My Window Novels & Stories

I read the same paragraph four times before I gave up pretending. I went to the window. His car was still there. I went back to my book. The rain got heavier as the evening went on, building into a proper storm. Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance and the windows rattled with the wind. I made more tea. I turned the lamp up. I finished two chapters without retaining a single word of either of them. Every time I checked the window his car was still there. By the time the rain finally started to ease I was done waiting for this to make sense on its own.

Alika's POV The sky outside the window faded into a sickly gray-green, like it was about to vomit a storm long held back. Wind twisted between the old library’s windows, slipping in through tiny cracks, carrying with it a chill that burrowed straight into my bones. My hand trembled as I turned the final page of the ancient tome Anindya left behind—a book that had already stolen my sleep, and tonight, threatened to steal my peace. The pages were frail, like dying skin left too long under the sun. Strange symbols etched across each leaf, pulsing faintly as if I were touching the heartbeat of something still alive.

His room. The window was cracked open, just like always. The polished gold rods beneath it gleamed like something out of a fairytale, elegant, useless, and exactly what I needed, fancy and utterly impractical for security. But perfect for girls in love. I gripped them tight, ignoring the sting in my palms as I climbed. My knees scraped against brick, the sky yawning wide above me, starless and spinning. I smiled. Almost there. But when I peered into his window, my smile died.

(Calla's POV) The air within the cabin had been too still, too parched. I still sat with my back against the window seat with the same book that I couldn't understand all afternoon, following the lines of the page where it was thinning out and cracking into fragments in my mind as it whirled round and round.

He is going to kill me when he sees this. I had a “little” breakdown, and now it looks like a bomb went off. Chairs are overturned, books scattered, and the curtains now resemble a tattered flag on a battlefield. I catch my reflection in a cracked mirror. My hair is a mess, and my eyes are wild with anger and confusion. This isn’t me. What has gotten into me? I turn and look out the huge window. The moon shines above, and I feel both peace and turmoil. The room is eerily quiet until I hear the door softly creak open. Frank enters cautiously.

The conviction that I wasn't entirely alone. My eyes glanced to the large window at the side of the room. The thin curtains swayed gently in the night breeze. Outside, the sky was filled with stars. This house felt so big, so foreign, but that night I began to see it differently. It was no longer just a building full of cold walls, but a place that might hold new stories.

Window. I scrambled to my feet, adrenaline spiking. The window was low, just above the sloping roof of the porch—a perfect escape I’d used as a kid. I shoved it open, cool air hitting my face as I swung one leg over the sill. The book went into my hoodie pocket, heavy against my side. I slid out, my sneakers scraping the shingles as I dropped to the grass below. Ben’s beat-up sedan idled at the curb, headlights off. I ran to it, yanking the passenger door open and sliding in.

Alicia was pensive in her room, opening the window of her wooden house. Tonight there was a moon, and Alicia could see it through her window, which was slightly open at the top. Alicia's window was made of four doors, two up and two down, with a lock in the center. Nothing special! Almost all the houses in her village had the same windows. Maybe only one or two were different, more modern like the windows in most city houses. And those were usually the houses of the village chief or the tea baron.

With my healing ability, I’d be back to normal in a day or so. I exhaled, wiping the sheen of sweat from my brow and pushing myself to my feet, ready to leave. But then I noticed the window – partially open behind the half-drawn pale green curtains. A sudden draft caused the fabric to billow inward, and rain drifted in, scattering droplets across the couch cushions and a few books left atop it. It seemed Anna’s maid had forgotten to close the window before leaving. I moved toward it, driven by instinct, to close it before the rain ruined the books.

The monster who took everything from me. I turn toward the window, my only connection to the outside world. The moonlight spills across the floor, casting eerie shadows that stretch toward me like ghostly fingers. The night is alive with the sounds of the forest—crickets chirping, the distant howl of a wolf, the rustling of leaves in the wind. The wind. My pulse quickens. If I can feel the wind, that means this window isn’t sealed shut. Moving quickly, I cross the room and press my hands against the wooden frame. The glass is old, the wood slightly warped. If I apply enough force—