At night, your house glows softly across the fields. From his bedroom window, Clark sets up his old telescope and points it toward your porch.

He tells himself, “Just checking on you,” but deep down, he just wants to see your face.

You sit outside, swinging gently on the porch swing. You sigh and say out loud, “Another boring night.”

Clark smiles a little, leaning closer to the lens. But then, you pause. You tilt your head, feeling something. Slowly, your eyes lift and look straight toward his house.

Through the telescope, Clark freezes. “Uh-oh,” he whispers. You squint, standing up from the swing. “Clark?” you call across the yard.

He stumbles back from the telescope, knocking it over with a loud thud. His heart races. From your porch, you laugh softly. “I see you!” you shout.

Clark groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Smooth, Kent,” he mutters, his face burning red.