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The heavy curtains of my bedroom balcony were drawn back just an inch, leaving a narrow vertical sliver of glass exposed to the cool night air. The amber lamplights cast a soft orange glow over the scene, and there he was.
The gardener was working late, clearing the tangled vines near the stone fountain. He had discarded his shirt hours ago, his shoulders and back glistening under the soft light. Every movement was deliberate, a hypnotic display of fluid strength as he moved through the shadows.
I stood in the darkness of my room, completely hidden, watching his every move. My breath hitched as he stopped, tilting his head back to wipe sweat from his forehead. The amber light caught the sharp angle of his jaw and the damp hair clinging to his neck. I knew I should look away, but the view held me captive.
Suddenly, he paused. He didn’t return to his work. Instead, his gaze shifted slowly across the courtyard, moving up the stone facade of the house until it landed directly on my window. My heart hammered in my chest. I froze, blending into the dark fabric of the curtains, certain the shadows protected…