I'd be sleeping, doing homework, rearranging my room or even just lying there, doing anything to pass the time as I waited for that soft tap against my window.
Waiting for her.
I hadn't realized when it became a routine of ours. It just happened.
One night, after a particularly extreme fight between her parents, (which I'd heard every word of no matter how much I tried to drown it out) was the first time I heard it. Just a gentle tap against my window. It was so quiet, I spent minutes wondering if I imagined it. Almost as if she didn't really care whether I heard or not.
I reluctantly made my way over to my window and there she was, clad in her pajamas and wearing a hoodie jacket over it.
I quickly struggled to open the window that I mostly kept shut before that day.
She seemed a bit surprised at the sudden sound and almost fell off the roof she was sitting on.
She sat there staring at me and I stared right back. Then she smiled.
I liked to believe that was the moment I fell for her. Seeing her pure and childish smile in such a strange situation. Me standing inside my room, still holding onto the window and her sitting there on my roof, hugging her knees.
Later I'd find out that I fell for her in steps. It was a process. My love for her grew like a seed planted in snow. It was always there, hidden deep within. As time went by and I became more and more exposed to her sunshiny personality and bright smiles, it started to bloom. Until my heart felt heavy with the garden of overwhelming love I had for the one ironically named Rosé. Or Rosie as I liked to call her.
That night, I let her in without a fuss. I knew what was going on in her home. Being neighbours and all.
She asked me what I was doing up so late. I said I could ask her the same question.
Then she smiled that heart stopping smile again and went over to sit down on my bed, uninvited.
"Cool room." I remembered her saying, looking around and nodding appreciatively.
We ended up talking until the sun peeked it's way into my room. Blissfully unaware of the passing of time as we chatted like we'd known each other forever, I was sad when she had to leave.
I didn't ask her to stay. She didn't promise to come back.
I let her go, not knowing whether I'll get to talk to her again or not.
Strange thing was, I didn't care. Because she felt too good to be true. A dream. A trippy hallucination I'd come up with due to my extreme need for companionship. It was pathetic really. But true.
And so I let her go.
And she came back. Again and again and again.
Sometimes she'd even sleep for a while. I'd watch her sleep. Tracing the curves of her lips with my eyes, the slope of her nose, the graceful dip between her collarbones. Her gentle breathing sometimes lulling me to sleep, and she'd be gone when I woke up.
And I'd be left wondering whether the ghost of her lips on my cheeks was a true memory or one I simply dreamed up of in futile attempts of having my love reciprocated.
Her smile was the first thing I fell in love with. The way it managed to leave a lasting impression on my brain since the very first day. The way it'd be the only good thing about my day sometimes.
And the way she spared them to me so easily. Through months of her coming over and me seeing all kinds of her smiles, I realized something that made my heart flutter but also break.
