You stepped off the train with two suitcases, a backpack, and a heart full of dreams. Russia was colder than expected, the air crisp, the streets unfamiliar, but everything felt like a fresh page. A full scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities had brought you here—thousands of miles from everything known. You found a small but cozy apartment on the sixth floor of a gray building tucked between towering offices and quiet cafés. It wasn’t much, but it was yours.

On the very first morning, pulling back the curtains, you froze.

Across the narrow street stood another building, taller, sleeker. Its windows gleamed under the pale sunlight, but one in particular caught your attention. There, behind floor-to-ceiling glass, was a man.

He was shirtless, muscular, and mid-push-up. Every movement was precise, practiced, as if part of his daily ritual. Sweat glistened on his arms under the morning light. His focus never wavered. You should have looked away. But didn't.

Each morning, it became a habit—wake up, make tea, and glance at the window. There he was again. Always alone. Always intense. He didn’t seem like a student. His posture, his tailored suits when he occasionally stepped out, and the black SUV waiting downstairs all pointed to something else.

Rumors from the old landlady hinted that the man was a billionaire. Name: Aleksei Voronov. Thirty-three. CEO of a luxury tech firm. No wife. No kids. No time for love, they said.

But you… you were falling. Slowly, secretly.

Every heartbeat whispered it: "I'm in love, in love, in love with the boy next door."

Except he wasn’t a boy. He was a man with the world at his feet—and you, a foreign student with nothing but a dream and a window between.

Until one day, he looked back.

One morning, while he was running on the treadmill, he looked up. And caught you staring. You panicked. But he didn’t look annoyed—he smirked.

That evening, you found a note slipped under your door.

"Like the view?" It read.

You laughed, cheeks hot. The next morning, you stood by the window again. He was already there, stretching—and watching. A few minutes later, your phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: "You didn’t answer my question yesterday."