He caught a glimpse of her arm as he poked his head near the corner of her window. He quickly shot back down, drenched in sweat, fearful of being found-out. His heart intensely pounded away, striking his chest at every beat. He would remember this feeling well in times to come, indeed.
He tensed up and took in a noseful of air. He exhaled sharply, newly transfixed in his goal, in this moment, in her. He slowly began to move, grazing the plane of her window gradually allowing his eyes to fixate on her once more. He held his breath. She moved her fingers to her bedside lamp, twisting the knob, turning the light off. She wore purple and slipped under a fluffy, white comforter underlain with silk. Her hands then clasped together as she engaged in a silent prayer.
He had spent much time in the past wondering about who she really was, her true nature, her character. Wondering what she is actually like when no one's looking... or rather, when she thinks no one's looking. A smile marked his face.
He originally planned to wait till she was swept away, subdued and trapped in slumber before making a move. But as he watched her lips move, speaking silent words for a God he knew not of, his admiration for her grew and lit his soul aflame, causing him to burn.
It was fire and fierce and irrational.
*Excerpt from my short story, "Her Room."
