The girl lives next door
A short story about love, loss and fate
Raindrops slowly fell to the ground. A car suddenly stopped outside. Long hair blew in the wind as footsteps approached the house next door.
A girl from my neighborhood.
“Bad weather,” she whispered.
I watched her through my window.
The next day, she carried something with her and went outside. It looked like a cardboard box.
Days later, I was still looking at her through my window. It has become my favorite thing to do. The girl never noticed me. She went about her days carelessly, doing her own things and enjoying life.
Maybe she was working, I whispered to myself.
For some people, days felt like hell. Yet somehow, watching her made the world feel different. I didn’t know anything about her, but still… Maybe she was living the life I once wanted.
“Breakfast is ready.”
A voice reached me.
An old woman brought a bread sandwich and a cup of coffee. I asked her about the girl who lived next door.
The old woman looked at me with confused eyes and replied,
“Ah… that girl. She lives next door. I don’t know her personally. She came here only two weeks ago. We’ll get to know her soon. Eat first.”
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The woman left the room with teary eyes and looked back.
She saw her daughter staring through the window, eyes full of excitement.
The doorbell rang.
It was the girl from next door.
She asked,
“Is Mom okay?”
The woman replied,
“Yeah. She has eaten her breakfast now.”
The woman hesitated before asking,
“Why did you go to our old house?”
The girl lowered her head.
“I… I really miss those days.”
She paused before asking softly,
“Will she remember me?”
The woman looked away and said.
“No…
