Through My Window: Looking At You Book Novels & Stories

I рісk a tаblе where I can juѕt mаkе out April thrоugh thе frоnt window. I watch her саrеfullу frоm the dіѕtаnсе. It brеаkѕ mу heart tо ѕее her walk uр to a саr window, attempt tо nеgоtіаtе a trісk and get rеjесtеd.

Anger coursed through my veins, fueling my determination to confront Martha, even though deep down, I questioned whether she would be willing to engage in a conversation with me. As I approached the table, a heavy sigh escaped my lips, a poignant gesture that mirrored the weight of my emotions. I couldn't help but turn my gaze towards the window, seeking solace in the outside world. The view outside seemed to reflect the turmoil within me as if nature itself understood my inner turmoil.

I looked at the man standing by the window. “Let them,” I rasped. “They will have to get through me first.”

I said. I stood beside him at the window — the window I had been returning to since my first sleepless night in this packhouse, the view I had looked at through every significant thing the years had contained. The pine tree line, dark and certain against the spring evening. The same view. Everything else completely different. "Chapter closed?" he asked. The way he asked things that were both simple and not simple.

She stated. “Because of me? Is this a joke or what?” My gaze narrowed at her as I suspected she must be lying. “No, it’s not. You can look through the window and see the mess he is creating.” She pointed her hand to the window and I looked at it and then back at her. A look of uncertainty was in my eyes as I then reluctantly walked towards the window as though I was forced. After looking. I was shocked to see the pack of warriors gathered at a spot, seemingly looking at something.

I place my hand on the window, not believing my eyes. What if Caroline is right? What if I am just seeing things? I glance down at the shattered mug and sigh before getting on my knees to clean it up. One by one, I pick up the shards and place them carefully in my palm. Soon enough they are all in the garbage, the place where I feel like my thoughts belong currently. What I saw could not have been my imagination. Peering back at the forest, I dash to the window, my nose touching the glass. My heart races as I watch carefully.

My gaze drifted to the left, where the city view and bustling activity were visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass window. “Nothing I can think of for now. I’ll let you know if I need anything,” I replied coldly. She nodded, turning on her heel, and I watched as she left, slamming the door behind her. Thoughts of her previous advances resurfaced, replaying vividly in my mind. I brushed off the memories when the file on the table flipped open. The morning breeze blew gently, signaling the start of a new chapter for me.

He had thought about the arriving child seeing the boy turned toward the window — the sea child visible to the arriving child, the sea child looking out and the arriving child looking in, the two attendings in correspondence across the glass. He had written in the pocket notebook: the window in the second direction. The arriving child sees the sea child looking out. The sea child does not see the arriving child — the sea child is attending to the sea. But the arriving child sees the sea child's attending. The window shows the arriving child what kind of room this is before they enter it. The window as the room's introduction of itself.

Chapter 33 BRIANNA’S POV ***** Outside, the downpour was descending heavily. I stood by the window, my breath creating a small mist on the glass as I peered outside. The rhythmic tap-tap of raindrops against the windowpane created a soothing melody that evoked nostalgic memories in me.

I smirked as I used my free hand to turn the water on. “But… the windows. People can see in.” Her eyes watched the three windows that looked out over the driveway and front of the villa. “No one can look in. One-way glass. We can look out, but no one can see in.” I assured her, pressing her naked body against the glass.