It started months ago. You were a new face in a bustling, sleepless city. Your name was spoken of, your face was known. I didn’t need to ask to learn your name: Jayden Miller.Before it all began, I passed by you a couple of times, and I must admit–merely passing you by was intimidating enough. I pulled my knitted cap lower every time. I wasn’t until I found out you live in the opposite building that I began to be curious.
Not even then, in fact. It was Ebba.
That night, my sister was in her room, playing with her new binoculars, when she suddenly yelped, “Hey look! Look what I found, Kasia!”
“What, Ebba? A bug under your sheets? I’m not surprised,” I replied as I walked into her room.
She passed the binoculars to me.”Jayden Miller in that building…” Ebba counted. “…um, twenty-third floor.”
I found your silhouette just before you switched the lights off. “Okay, I saw that,” I said.
Ebba snatched the binoculars and threw them onto her bed–on top of the clothes, bags, and books. “I want!” she said.
“You…what?”She whispered in my ear. My jaw dropped.
“Can’t you pick me another topic to write about?” I asked.
After ten minutes of struggling, I threw on my knitted cap, took my notebook and pen, and said to Ebba, “If I come out of this alive, I’ll skin you.”Then, I headed out.