Every weekday at 4 p.m., Caroline’s neighbors, Mike and Jill, performed a peculiar ritual that had piqued her curiosity for a decade. One day, she decided to investigate, but what she discovered through the open window was far from what she had imagined.
Ten years. That’s how long I’ve been living in this house and working from home. I’m Caroline, and I work as a web developer from the comfort of my house.
My remote job gives me the freedom to work from anywhere (literally, anywhere!), but I choose to stay at home in my comfy pajamas.
My days are marked by the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of my keyboard and the comforting hum of the fridge. My desk, positioned next to a large window, offers a prime view of the neighborhood.
Taking a break during work means making myself a cup of coffee and looking out of the window.
A cast of characters who play out their own little dramas keeps me entertained during those breaks, oblivious to my silent observations.
But none hold more intrigue than my next-door neighbors, Mike and Jill.
Every weekday, at precisely 4 p.m., a silver sedan would glide into their driveway. Out would step Mike, a tall, unassuming man with a briefcase clutched tightly to his chest. He’d disappear into the house for a quick fifteen minutes, then emerge again, the car pulling away just as quickly as it arrived.
On days Jill went to work, they’d come home together and close the curtains. On weekends, they’d just pull the curtains shut at the exact time. 4 p.m.
Their charming Victorian house, with its perpetually well-kept lawn, remained shrouded in an air of secrecy during those fifteen minutes.
Their routine was so precise and unchanging that it just became a part of my workdays.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t call myself a nosy person. But ten years of witnessing this daily ritual chipped away at my restraint.
The human mind craves answers, and the unanswered question of “what do they do for those fifteen minutes?” gnawed at me.
One particularly slow Wednesday afternoon, the itch of curiosity became unbearable. I was hunched over my laptop, editing a website when the familiar rumble of the car engine reached my ears.
My chair creaked as I rose, drawn to the window like a moth to a flame. Through the glass, I watched Mike and Jill step out of their silver sedan.
They shared a quick kiss before heading inside.
I instantly looked at the wall clock. It was 4 p.m.
Everything was normal except one thing. Instead of the usual blackout routine where all curtains were drawn, only one remained open.
It was like an unspoken invitation, calling me to see what was happening inside their house.
Mike grinned. “It is, isn’t it? So, no more peeping through windows, okay? Next time, curiosity gets the better of you, just knock on the door,” he winked. “We might even have some cookies to bribe you with in exchange for keeping our secret.”
From that day on, a silent understanding blossomed between us. I never peeked through the window again, but the image of their daily ritual stayed with me. It became a heartwarming reminder that sometimes, the most extraordinary love stories bloom in the simplest of gestures.
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