He can’t, for the life of him, draw his gaze away from you as he stares out of the window at the once-vacant home across the street—the home that you were currently moving into. For some reason, he can’t tear his eyes from the silhouette of your body as you run back and forth with moving boxes, unpacking your life a bit at a time.

He finds himself desperate to learn your name, and hear your voice for the very first time. He can almost imagine what you sound like, as he stares at the way your lips move as you speak to the moving men. He didn’t know a person could be so lovely. He didn’t know he could be so desperate. And yet, as if moving on their own, his feet take him to the front door and across the street.

“Hey,” He calls to you, giving you a little wave and a smile. You’re even more beautiful up close, he thinks. “You’re the new neighbour, right? Need any help with those boxes?”