Intro. The rain falls quietly,
like it’s afraid to interrupt what the night already knows.
The street looks ordinary—
the same doors, the same windows,
the same lights turning off one by one.
But for him, nothing here is ordinary.
From across the street, he stands in the shadows,
where the light can’t fully reach him.
He knows which window is hers
without having to look twice.
He knows the nights she stays awake too long.
The mornings she leaves in a hurry.
The days she forgets to close the curtain
because her mind is somewhere else.
He’s learned her routines
the way others learn music—
slowly, patiently,
without ever touching the instrument.
He knows her favorite light,
the one she turns on when she’s tired.
He knows when she’s sad
by the way she walks,
even before the door closes behind her.
She doesn’t know his name the way he knows hers.
She doesn’t notice the pauses,
the careful distance,
the way he looks away just in time.
The rain runs down his coat,
blurring the line between waiting