Chapter 3 Oliver (ema's neighbor)

I sat there on the balcony, legs hanging over the edge, a half-finished bottle of malt in my hand. The street was quiet as usual-just the sound of passing bikes and some kids shouting over a game of football down the road. But none of that mattered.

Because I saw her again.

Ema.

My neighbor.

My crush.

She walked past like she always did-head down, hoodie up, lost in her own world. But even in that sadness, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

We've never really spoken. Not properly. Just the occasional smile, or a "hi" when we crossed paths near the gate. But that didn't stop me from noticing her-how she held herself like she was constantly fighting something inside. How her eyes always looked like they'd been crying, even when she tried to smile.

She's everything I imagine when I think of "the one."

Cute. Quiet. A little mysterious.

And maybe... just maybe, as broken as I am.

But still, I never had the guts to go to her house. Never had the courage to start a real conversation. What would I even say? "Hi, I think you're beautiful and I want to know what makes you smile?"

No.

What if she's straight?

What if she laughs at me?

What if she turns me down without even realizing how hard it was for me to try?

Too many what ifs.

Oh, sorry-I forgot to introduce myself.

I'm Oliver.

Half Nigerian, half Ghanaian. Twenty years old. I live alone in the flat next to Ema's. My mum passed away three years ago, and my dad? Well, he disappeared into whatever corner of the world God tossed him. I've stopped waiting for him to come back.

So yeah, it's just me.

Me and my quiet music.

Me and my sketchbooks.

Me and my thoughts... most of which lately have been about her.

There's something about Ema that pulls me in-even when I try to stay in my lane. Something in the way she walks like she's holding a world of pain on her back. The way she looks at the sky like she's begging it to hear her. I see the sadness. I see the loneliness.

Because I feel it too.

Some nights, I hear her crying. Her room is close enough that if my window's open, I can hear the soft sobs echo through the wall. And it crushes me. Not because it's loud-but because I know those kinds of tears. The ones that come when no one's watching. The ones you cry when you don't know if you'll make it through the next day.

I want to talk to her. I really do.

But I'm scared.

Scared that maybe she'll look at me like I'm just another weirdo neighbor.

Scared that maybe she's into guys and won't even see me beyond a polite nod.

And I don't want to ruin the small peace we already have. The way she sometimes glances up and gives me that shy, soft smile. That's something. It means something, right?

Or maybe I'm just overthinking everything.

Maybe one day I'll have the courage to speak to her. Maybe I'll finally knock on her door and ask if she's okay. Maybe I'll tell her I've seen her, really seen her, and that she's not as invisible as she thinks she is.

But not today.

For now, I'll stay on this balcony.

Watching.

Waiting.

And hoping that one day... she'll see me too.