I           

She stands by the window watching the morning fog melt from the cold glass until it clears and she can see outside. Behind the bare tree branches dark shapes are moving, the outline of indistinct figures going about their tasks, dutifully acquiescing to the day ahead. 

She imagines being in one of the apartments behind the trees and looking at her building. She sees herself from across the courtyard, a solitary figure steadfast in the window. Why isn’t this person in a hurry, they must wonder. A giggle escapes her lips as she thinks of herself through the eyes of these dark shapes. 

A loud bang sends a jolt through her body. She looks down. A look of annoyance flashes across her face as the sound reverberates between the buildings and her thoughts slip away, forcing her to become an active participant of the present. 

Below her a man is throwing his rubbish into the bins. She watches as he flicks a piece of brown hair out of his eyes and empties the rest of his rubbish. When he is finished, he walks across the courtyard towards her building and vanishes through the door below. 

She stares at the spot where he disappeared, pushing her forehead against the cold glass of the window. She waits but he does not come back.  

                                                                                                              II

The next time she sees him is in the early morning. He is getting his bike from underneath the tin-roof shed in the corner of the courtyard. Clouds of steam burst from his mouth into the icy air. He brushes speckles of ice and moisture off the bike’s saddle and wipes his wet palm onto his jeans. 

He wheels his bike to the edge of the shed and pauses, holding the bike upright with one hand on the handlebars. His free hand takes his headphones from around his neck and puts them over his ears before rummaging in his pocket for his phone. She watches as he stands still, his thumb scrolling down the screen, and imagines what he is searching for. They probably have the same taste in music, she thinks. 

A small smile touches his lips when he finds it. She smiles too. He slips his phone back into his pocket, pulls his hood over his head and wheels his bike past her window, disappearing once more. 

                                                                                                               III

She wipes the fog off the kitchen window and looks out. On one side of the courtyard is the back of a tall apartment building. The cream paint is cracking and peeling in a long line down the centre of the wall, revealing the murky cement beneath. As she gazes upon the paint that is bursting and splintering in the heavy frost, she begins to feel it as if the cracks are appearing all over her skin. She feels like her carefully constructed façade is being pulled away, stripped piece by piece in harsh tears, revealing an unknown entity that lies waiting beneath. Her whole body is enveloped in this destructive grip and she begins to feel the paralysis that occurs when her breathing is constricted. 

A familiar shape with a comforting gait appears beneath her. He wheels his bike across the gravel courtyard with one hand, his head bent as he looks at his phone. His thumb flashes indecipherably over the screen until it stops moving, then he brings his phone to his ear and his whole body comes to a rest in the middle of the courtyard.

Forgetting about the rigidity that had gripped her body, she goes towards the window and slowly turns the handle to pull it open. The bitter air streams in like a stampede. A shiver runs over her skin and a quick fog claws its way up the window. She wraps her arms around her chest and leans out. 

His voice drifts up from the courtyard as if from the depths of a forgotten dream. It washes over her with the comfort and excitement of a nameless familiarity. It has a strong and commanding force to it, yet the inflections are filled with a playful tenderness. She holds her breath as she lets the words absorb her, transporting her to another world in which she is on the other end of the phone call. As she listens to him say, ‘I’ll be there. I might be a little late though,’ she imagines her evening out, sitting in a room full of people who burst with envy at her unwavering happiness, responding to their many questions with: He’s on the way. He’s just running a little late.

The sound of crunching gravel pulls her back to the present and the scene dissipates into a hazy memory. He has hung up the phone and is wheeling his bike towards the shed where he locks it and walks back across the courtyard. She pictures him entering the building, walking up the stairs, turning the key in the door and coming into their apartment where she goes into the hall and feels herself wrapped in his arms. She is so lost in this scene that she almost doesn’t notice when he pauses in the courtyard and looks up at her window, his eyes boring straight into hers. 

She freezes. The whole world is still. Their two bodies, their two consciousnesses are locked inertly together. The breath in her chest stops. Then, he turns his head away and looks at the exit in front of him and walks forward, quickly disappearing from sight. 

                                                                                                             IV

The courtyard is hidden under a blanket of snow. It covers the top of the cars, bins and hedges and there is a thin film of white dust that has transformed the bare, spindly brown branches into a glowing white web. As she looks beneath her, she sees a trail of footsteps trudged into the snow but does not know where they came from. She has seen no one disturb the silent snow. No one. 

                                                                                                             V

Sometimes when he walks through the courtyard he looks up at her window, sometimes he doesn’t. It has become a kind of game. When he walks below in an air of distraction, waves of excitement and anticipation pulsate through her body. Will he, or won’t he? Every footstep is like a bell crashing aloud inside her. When he disappears through the door without looking up, the apprehension that has been coursing through her recedes like an ocean tide slipping away from the shore. 

But when he does look, even if it is only a quick and furtive glance, her body comes alive and she feels like she has been released from the fabric of non-existence and she knows that she is her own entity, a living and breathing being with the capacity to be known and loved by other beings taking part in this reality. 

                                                                                                             VI

A hazy sunlight shines down into the courtyard. Green buds are sprouting on the branches and patches of brown soil below are showing the first signs of life. She knows that soon her barren sanctuary will be transformed into a different world, a world that is filled with leaves that bounce and sway in the breeze and sweet smells that hang heavy in the air infusing everything around them, lending a floral aroma to the stagnant water glasses that lie idly by. 

His silhouette has changed with the seasons. He has shifted from thick bundles of dark wool to light coloured shirts with short sleeves and enjoyable patterns. He wears jeans and sandals and she likes watching his slender arms locking his bike and his hand brushing the tips of his hair out of his eyes. 

She still feels a jolt every time he glances at her window. When they lock eyes, he looks quickly away as if he’s embarrassed at being caught. She wants him to know that he shouldn’t be embarrassed, that their habitual meeting of eyes are the moments she longs for. 

But as time passes, his glances become quicker until he eventually stops looking up altogether. The more he refuses to look up, the more she wants him to know. She wants him to know that she waits for him, that she longs to see him, that their palpable connection is her link to the world and she knows he feels it too. She wants to hear his voice speak words to her and not to invisible strangers whom she can only imagine. 

She has decided it’s time. It’s time she shows him she is ready to remove the barriers and step into their world together. Next time, she will let him know. 

                                                                                                               VII

Time filters by and the only frequenters of the courtyard are faceless neighbours with dull demeanours who never acknowledge the world above them. She can’t bear the brightness that bounces between the walls of the courtyard. The constant buzzing of insects never ceases and she can’t breathe in the sweaty, thick air. Even the branches of the trees seem to sag and wilt under the weight of the miserable heat. She can no longer distinguish herself from her surroundings. She feels like she is melting into them, like the fabric of the world is folding over her, enclosing her in its smothering embrace. 

                                                                                                             VIII

One day he is there. She almost doesn’t trust her eyes. She is worried she has fabricated him out of the hazy threads of summer sun. But no, it is him. His long slender limbs have darkened and the tips of his hair radiate a golden hue. The stagnant breath in her chest is released and the mist that has surrounded the courtyard starts to lift, as if the very buildings have stopped holding their breath. 

He walks to the bike rack and begins to untie his bike. She is about to gather the strength to call out to him, but in that instant, a high-pitched voice shatters the quiet of the world below. His hands pause and he turns his head. He lets out a laugh and says something she can’t quite make out. 

Into her view walks a tall woman. His eyes don’t leave this woman as she walks over to him with her hand outstretched. He takes her fingers and intertwines them with his own. The fingers on his other hand run down her neck as he pulls her towards him, locking them tightly together. After a few moments they pull apart. The smile doesn’t leave his face as he takes his bike and pushes it with one hand, the other wrapped around her waist, and strolls across the gravel. 

When they are halfway across, he glances up at the window. His eyes bore into hers. The woman he is holding follows his line of view. The three of them stand still while time freezes. Then, breaking the unbearable spell, the woman turns and says something into his ear. He gives a small nod and the two of them look straight ahead and disappear from sight.

©

Sophie Moran is a copywriter from Ireland and living in Germany. She has had work published in Friday Flash Fiction, Easy Parenting Magazine and other publications. She is currently working on a collection of short stories.