Through My Window: Across The Sea Novels & Stories

No ghosts in my eyes. I ran a finger over the chip in the glass and smiled, small, uneven. The window behind me caught the reflection of the sea, light dancing on the walls like it was alive. I thought about everything that broke, everything that tried to kill me, and how somehow I was still breathing through it all. And it hit me—maybe surviving isn’t the end of the story. Maybe it’s the start.

The temperature stayed mild year-round and the sea breeze drifted slow and easy, with no endless intrigues, no ambiguous affection I couldn’t distinguish as real or fake, and none of the man who had taken all my heart and left me covered in wounds. I rented an apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the sea. Each morning I opened them to blue water, and at dusk the last of the light spread across the whole balcony, quiet and healing. I set down the chains of the past for good and slowly returned to a life that was my own.

“The room on the second floor facing the sea is still open.” “It's small, but you can watch the sunrise from it.” I took the key and thanked her. The room truly was small. A bed, an old wooden table, a wardrobe with its paint slightly faded. Push the window open, and there was the sea. The wind poured in all at once, lifting the curtains, scattering the heavy perfume that still clung to me. Standing at the window, I suddenly felt unsteady. I'd taken too many suppressants these past days. The doctor had said I had half a year at most.

"I'm sure you're tired after the journey; please, take some rest." "Thank you." Murmuring, I slowly stepped inside and looked around in awe. The place is so dreamy. I entered the bedroom, walking toward the window. I opened the curtains and realized it wasn't a window but a door to an open porch. Slowly, I walk out. Down the cliff was the boundless blue sea under the beautiful, clear sky. The occasional sound of waves hitting the rocks was like the Pacific music of the last cello. It feels like a paradise in the world; the only missing piece is a partner in this romantic ambiance.

I turned and went back to the studio. Beyond the window lay the wide, bright sea. I lifted my brush to the canvas. And painted the final stroke.

Picking up the bottle, the sweets could wait. Removing the scrap of foil, I moved to the balcony. I twisted the metal cording, the cork came off with a loud pop. I shouldered the door open as I took a long swig from the bottle and looked out over the view. This was what I’d been waiting for. I’d never seen the ocean before, not outside of movies or television shows. Now it was real, I could smell the salty tang of the ocean, and even in the darkness the view was breathtaking. The stars and moon reflecting over the dark water. It looked like something out of a fairytale.

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Elara's new home, casting soft golden hues across the room. The sea breeze drifted through the open balcony doors, carrying with it the soothing sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below. It was a serene moment, one that felt almost surreal in its simplicity. Elara stood by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, and for the first time in years, she felt at peace.

The warmth spread through me, settling my stomach, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness in my chest. I went to the window and looked out. The sea stretched endlessly, beautiful and cruel at the same time. Something got me wondering, boats never passed this reminded me freedom was out there, but just unreachable for. I pressed my forehead against the glass and whispered, “How did I end up here?”

I picked up her glass and I carried it into the kitchen and I washed it by hand and I dried it with the small cloth Faraz used and I put it back in the cupboard. I left my glass on the coffee table. I went to the front window. ── The street was empty. The lights along the river were the same lights I had been looking at from this window for seven years, the small steady chain of yellow and white that ran along the Brooklyn shore and across the East River and up the eastern edge of Manhattan and I stood at the window with my hands in the pockets of dark slacks and I let myself, for the only time in the entire evening, have a feeling.

I turned and drifted slowly toward that bright light. One step, two steps. My body grew lighter and lighter. I grew more and more transparent. I casted all those painful memories, those deep, searing scars, all far behind me.