Never before her, had he been the peeping type.
Still to this day, he felt uneasy, when he caught himself staring down her way.
Not so long ago, Will lived a somewhat boring life. Pretty much every day used to be a Groundhog Day (the iconic movie, not the spring time ritual) grotesque caricature.
He would wake up, have a cup of black coffee, enjoy an equally hot shower, get dressed and move to his home office to fill grids and files with data only he and a handful of people really understood. He’d only pause to have a quick lunch, and work until late at night. He’d then heat a frozen plate in the microwave, and eat it in front of the television.
And days repeated themselves like a vicious circle.
One evening, he had noticed that the large loft that had remained empty for months, in the building across the parking lot, just a couple of stories lower, was no longer vacant.
Unlike the other flat owners, she only pulled the tall curtains closed very late at night. And the large windows offered him a privileged view of her little universe.
She was an artist. And a talented one, for that matter.
Dozens of her paintings (Will presumed) were hanging on the walls, and when he managed to stay up late enough, he would catch her working her magic on a canvas.
And she was so very pretty. Not the model, flawless type, but when she tied her hair in a messy bun, and painted in her baggy paint-stained t-shirts… He just wished he’d be brave enough to walk to her door, and introduce himself.
But how exactly would he do that? ”Hi! I’m Will, your secret spying neighbour”?
So Will kept peeping, hoping to catch the perfect reason to make a first contact. The last couple of days, he had noticed that she would come to the windows around 4 PM. She looked a bit pensive, and stared out for quite some time… Was she waiting for a lover, or just a fellow artist or someone who would come to judge her art?
Oh! Here she comes, he thought.
Leaving his charts, Will rolled closer to the window, and watched her standing by the large window panes.
He so wished she would look up and see him…
Elsa leaned on the window frame.
Come on, 18-B. You’re late…
She really wanted to go back to her latest painting. She had promised to get it ready for the exposition due to welcome visitors the next day.
There you are, sucker! Don’t you dare make another scratch on my car. Where did you get your drivers’ licence, out of a Cracker Jack box??
Elsa rolled her eyes. And noticed a guy looking her way, with binoculars.
Freak! She thought.
(Sorry, I didn’t respect the the Flash Fiction criteria…. But who cares?)