Books Like Through My Window Novels & Stories

He slammed the door shut and turned the key, leaving me alone to ponder this bit of news. I returned to the darkened window and did my best to peer through its opaqueness at the world outside. It was night now, making it easier to depict the crowded street with its lights and intense glitter. Everything was hazy, as if a world away, but it gave me some semblance of comfort and connection to know it was there. It was like looking through a time warp. I tried again to open the window, but it wouldn’t budge.

That the thing he had spent thirteen years and an incalculable amount of money and one daughter’s childhood keeping buried was no longer buried. I picked up my book. My hands were completely steady. Outside the library window the city moved in its indifferent, continuous way. The surface had cracked. Now we waited for the pieces to fall.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I spent more time reading, it was the only thing that was stopping me from losing my mind in this sick hole. The moon shone through my window that night, its call was as loud as sirens and I answered. From my bed, I could see the trees outside glittering from the silver light from the moon but tonight, even though there was nothing particularly special going on there, I found myself drawn to the window. A strange excitement took hold of me, maybe it was the thrill of adventure, and the desire to explore and discover what lied beyond my walls. Immediately I moved toward it, I knew just why.

#PagesI'llDeleteLater" THE END. ------------------ Hey guys, Thank you all so much for reading this book THE GLASS WIFE. Thank you for your time, energy, money😂, I do not take it for granted. To everyone that commented, gifted, sent out gems, (If you haven't, please do😏) thank you all so much. I appreciate. But this is not the end, I'll be writing more books, improving myself and I hope to see you there too! Especially on my current book, CHOKEHOLD. Updates there will be now more frequent. Thank you everyone! Much Love 😘😘😘

My breath rushed out in a harsh gasp as I caught myself, palms stinging once more. Only then did I take it in properly: the wide room, walls lined neatly with books and files, the sleekness of a desk standing at its centre like a throne. A floor-to-ceiling window was cracked open behind the desk, to what appeared to be noon now, the curtains stirring slightly with the breeze… mocking me with the nearness of freedom. The room cramped in. Glossy wood, intentional order, and power appearing to be in every detail. Yet my eyes kept dragging back to the open window. Close enough to see, impossible to reach.

No expectations. Just him, in a space that was entirely his own. He wandered toward the window, pressing his palm against the cold glass. The view wasn’t spectacular—just another apartment building across the alley, its brick exterior covered in graffiti. A few floors below, a couple argued in hushed voices, their silhouettes illuminated by a neon sign from a liquor store down the block. City life. He wasn’t used to it. But then again, he wasn’t used to much of anything outside his own world of books, computers, and solitude.

But I could force the window open. One breath of air at a time.

I use my free hand to try and open it, but the locks are hot and almost melted, and they burn the tips of my fingers at the first touch. I try to use my shoulder to break down the window, but it's of no use. There's only one thing to do. I have to launch myself through the window, but everything and everywhere is so hot. I can't even see to breathe. My cough increases, and my lungs feel like they've had enough. I know I only have a few minutes before I finally lose consciousness. I wrap my arms around the boy and tuck him between my chest andI turn my back to the window, and with full force, I lurch myself through it. I land outside on my back with a few pieces of shards that aren't afraid t

The man I anticipated would always appear when I least anticipated it. As I waited for him, I couldn’t help but wonder how he would make his entrance this time. Would he climb in through the window again or try a different approach? The anticipation kept me from feeling bored, and I even left the window unlatched to make sure he could get in easily. I found myself yearning for the night with the anticipation of a child eagerly awaiting a present. My excitement was uncontrollable. Attempting to distract myself, I picked up a book, but my gaze constantly drifted towards the window.

He thought about Tom at the counter before the house was awake, the river in its current season through the narrow frame, the building giving Tom his morning in the way the section had drawn it. He thought about what the window had given Tom across seventeen months. He thought about the April silver through the window and the June high light through the window and the September river through the window and the November cousin of the silver and the February window that he was looking through now. He thought about Tom having received all of these — the full year of the river through the narrow frame, the window framing the bend in every season. He thought: the window has given Tom more than th