The Watcher

The lights from the building across the street were on. Kyle gripped his blue ceramic mug fiercely, standing by his window. The tea in it had grown as cold as stone and tasteless. But that didn't bother him. He wasn't going to drink it anyway. He had a job to do.  

One job only. A job that had to do with the tall skyscraper opposite the hotel he had rented in the past two months. Well, not the entire building, just the fifth floor and the woman living on it.  

The large windows slid open and a slim hand battled with the curtains, trying to shove them aside.  

A laugh bubbled up Kyle's throat. He swallowed it down with a sip of the cold tea and made an ugly face. He had seen that scene a hundred times. He knew what would happen next.  

She would tie one-half of the white billowing curtains, ignore the other half, and walk out to the balcony. Her hair would be tied up in a tight bun, he always wondered if she didn't have a blasting headache every single time she came home. And then he would get a treat— the sight of her yanking the pins out of her hair and the blonde silky waves would fall over her shoulders.  

Kyle didn't know if her hair was silky. He also couldn't see her eyes considering it was usually dark and she was far away. But her file sat on his desk behind him, containing a piece of paper and the picture of a beautiful blue-eyed siren.  

Amelia Dorhaz. 

When Kyle got the job to 'watch' Amelia Dorhaz, he wasn't intrigued. His targets were usually celebrities, billionaires, people who could stir up public trouble and gave him a lot of interesting stories to tell. 

He was a watcher—a spy, but much more private. Prominent folks hired him to stalk their rivals to either monitor their every move or dig up dirt on them. It was quite interesting, watching man's life unfold, napping every action he took, every word he said.  

There were two rules for 'Watchers' to follow. One, they had to remain hidden and out of sight. The targets must never meet them. Two, they could never form personal attachments to targets.  

Kyle enjoyed watching people. The thrill of living through someone else was addicting, if he had to admit it. He had spent ten years on the job and he was darn good at it. Perhaps a little too good at it.  

When the famous businesswoman, Regina Santiago had reached out to him, he had prepared himself for another delightful round. Who was she after? Another business mogul? A mafia lord? A Hollywood star?

No. 

Her secretary. She had smacked the picture of her secretary on his chest and whatever excitement he felt fizzled out.  

For the first week, he had done his job grudgingly. He'd rented a hotel room facing Amelia's building. He took yoga classes with her, avoiding any conversation with her at all.  

Her life was quite boring. She had her job at the Santiago corporation. Kyle would wait in his car by five in the evening, watching her walk out of the building and slip into a cab. If it were a Monday, she would head over to a retirement home and check on her old nana.  

From his digging, her grandmother worked during the Second World War as a nurse. She also knitted the ugliest mittens on the planet. The woman was approaching senile, considering she only knitted with the oddest of colors.  

On Tuesday, she would visit her sister, Camelia. Amelia never stayed past an hour and whenever she walked out of Camelia's home, her blue eyes would turn glassy like little resin keychains. 

To Kyle, that was odd. Whenever he peeked through the windows, into the living room, they always seemed happy. Amelia would have one of Camelia's daughters in her arms, making faces, while her sister spoke animatedly about something. That was the one thing that differentiated the two sisters.  

Amelia was quiet and reserved, and sometimes, you could never know what she was thinking about. Camelia was an avid talker. But they seemed to get along just fine in the kind of way sisters do.  

So why was Amelia always sad when she left her sister's home? And why did she go back every week like some masochist who relished pain? 

It bothered him. It bothered him to no end. 

Her Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays were all the same. She would head home straight right after work. And then she would do what she did right now- stand on the balcony, with her hair let down, and stare down at the passersby. Her dainty fingers gripped the rails a little too tightly and her shoulders would drop in a sigh.  

Kyle took another sip of the tea, shook his head, and decided he had to get rid of the unappealing liquid. But only after she went back in.  

The next day was Saturday. That meant yoga classes till twelve, and a walk in the dog park, despite her not having a dog. On Sundays, she spent half the day at the cemetery, went to the store, and stopped at a diner for a quick snack of chocolate muffins and an ice cream sundae. 

Amelia would find a quiet corner in the diner where she could melt into the decor, and take a scoop of her ice cream sundae. Kyle had ordered an ice cream sundae once, but it didn't make him cry the way it made Amelia cry.  

It wasn't the loud, shoulders trembling, seeking attention kind of crying. It was quiet. A tear would simply roll down her cheek and she would dab at it with a powder brush as if she were reapplying her makeup.  

It was just a tear. And yet it felt like those eyes contained all the sadness in the world. Watching Amelia Dorhaz hadn't been exciting or adventurous in any way. 

Yet his heart pounded, loud and wildly in his chest every time he watched her wear her grandmother's ugly mittens. Every time she picked a toy out in the store for her nieces. Every time she curled herself up in a child's pose and remained that way longer than everyone else in yoga class. Every time she took a walk in the park she knew only a few people would be there she could cry to her heart's content. Every time she saved the sundae for last because she knew she couldn't hold the tears back.  

Regina Santiago had hired him to find what her odd assistant was hiding and he had found it. There was a hole, a giant missing piece in Amelia Dorhaz's soul. But Kyle found something more. He found that he wanted to find that missing piece and make her whole again.  

He had broken the second rule. And as he watched Amelia turn around, ready to walk back into her home, the first rule didn't seem as important as it had at first.  

"Hey," he called out, holding up his mug in a greeting.  

She whipped her head around and blinked a few times before smiling at him. Her hand came up in a wave. "Hey."