Every night at exactly 3a.m, the light flicked
on in the apartment across the alley. Always the
same window. Always the same warm yellow
glow.
At first, Nicole thought nothing of it- city life had
rhythms of its own. But the consistency became
too strange to ignore. No matter the day,
weather, or season, that window lit up like
clockwork. No shadows moved inside. No
silhouette ever crossed. Just light.
Until one rainy Tuesday, she saw a figure. A
man. Older. Standing still with his hand raised-
not waving, not beckoning, just raised like a
pause in motion. Nicole stepped closer to her
window, heart fluttering like moth wings. She
lifted her hand. Slowly, he lowered his.
The next night, the window stayed dark.
She waited. One hour. Two. Nothing.
Then, just as she turned away, a soft knock
echoed behind her. Not from the door. From her
window.
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