CHAPTER 9: THE WINDOW AND HER EYES
AUTHOR'S POV
Earlier that day, before the party, exactly a week since that awkward dinner with Ella, His father had been disappointed but respectfully quiet about it.
Henry appreciated that.
He'd been deep in work ever since, using it as both refuge and excuse.
Managing two companies wasn't easy, but for Henry, it was better than having idle time to dwell on what he lacked emotionally.
But just as he started to feel he could settle back into his quiet rhythm, his phone buzzed on
a slow Thursday evening.
"Son, we have a family get-together this weekend. Don't tell me you forgot." Said Mr. Daukon.
Henry blinked. "Wait, what?" he exclaimed.
His father chuckled on the other end of the line.
"The Jonadab's. Remember them? Their youngest daughter is graduating next month. They're hosting a small celebration this
Saturday. Just family and a few close friends. We've been invited." Said Mr. Daukon.
Henry leaned back in his office chair. The name "Jonadab" stirred a faint memory, photos, wine,
laughter from long ago, but he didn't recall meeting the daughter. Still, he sighed, resigned.
"Do I have to go?" he asked.
"Yes," his father replied.
Simply, as though the decision had already been made.
"You've been working too much. Just show your face. Smile. Eat something. You're representing me." Said Mr. Daukon.
Henry ran a hand down his face. "Alright. One hour." said Henry.
"Two," his father negotiated. "And wear something ldecent. No turtlenecks." He father requested.
Henry laughed. "Noted." He said.
------------------------------------------
The party was held at a sprawling estate in the upscale part of town.
A place surrounded by blooming hibiscus hedges and high cream walls that looked like something out
of a colonial-era painting.
As they drove through the gates in his Lexus SUV, Henry instinctively adjusted the sleeves of his navy blazer.
He hated parties.
Not because he was shy, but because they always felt performative. The smiles. The small talk. The fake laughter. Everyone seemed to be saying things they didn't mean, asking
questions they didn't care about, hoping to impress someone who probably didn't matter.
Still, Henry kept his calm. As they stepped out of the car, his father was immediately swept into conversations by old friends, business partners, political figures, relatives.
Henry offered handshakes and faint smiles as he was introduced, but his mind was elsewhere.
He needed a break. Somewhere quieter.
So he slipped away, past the buffet tables stacked with finger foods, past the clinking glasses and laughing guests, past the pool area glowing under fairy lights and found
himself standing by a large bay window inside the house.
The air conditioning hummed gently. Classical music played low in the background.
He let out a breath.
The window overlooked the garden. A soft evening breeze slipped in through a small open
crack, brushing his skin like silk.
He sat on a chair close by and took a sip of wine, finally able to breathe without pretending.
And that was when he saw her.
She was standing beneath the hanging lanterns by the edge of the garden, laughing with a little girl.
Her laughter wasn't loud, it was light, like wind chimes. Her dress was simple but elegant, a rich wine color that clung to her figure in all the right ways.
She wasn't trying to be noticed. She wasn't posing or posturing. She was just… existing.
And yet, Henry couldn't take his eyes off her.
Her face turned slightly toward the light. He caught a glimpse of her eyes, almond-shaped, soft, curious.
Her hair fell in waves down her back, and when she smiled, something in Henry's chest shifted.
It wasn't lust. It wasn't admiration. It was something else.
Recognition?
As though a part of him had been waiting to see her face.
"Enjoying the breeze or the view?" came Victor's voice behind him.
Henry blinked, startled. He turned to find his best friend smirking, holding a glass of fruit punch.
"Don't sneak up on people like that," Henry muttered.
Victor peered out the window. "Ah," he said knowingly. "So you saw her."
"Who is she?" Henry asked before he could stop himself.
Victor grinned. "Maryann. Jonadabs neighbor. Just moved back from Scotland. Finished her degree in Creative Arts and Literature."
Henry raised an eyebrow. "She's not… like the others, is she?"
Victor tilted his head. "Define 'the others.'" He said.
"You know what I mean." Replied Henry.
Victor chuckled. "Nah. She's different. Quiet. Reads a lot. Teaches part-time at a local art
center in Scotland before they move down here.
Doesn't care much for status or titles. Spent most of her time volunteering instead of partying, I
heard she's looking for a job currently" said Victor.
Henry turned back to the window. "She's beautiful." He said.
"She is," Victor agreed. "And guarded."
Henry narrowed his eyes. "Guarded?"
Victor shrugged. "Lost her mother a few years back. Pretty close to her. It changed her. She's careful with people now. Doesn't open up easily." Explained Victor.
Henry nodded slowly. Something in that story felt familiar. Like a mirror held up to his own life.
"Well, don't just stand here looking like a love-struck poet," Victor teased. "Come meet her." He said.
"I don't think so," replied Henry.
Victor didn't wait. He grabbed Henry's wrist and pulled him away from the window, weaving through
the sea of bodies and polite conversations until they were back outside, walking toward the garden.
Maryann was now seated on the edge of a fountain, her shoes off, her feet dipped lightly in the water as she laughed with the little girl from earlier. Her presence was effortlessly peaceful, like watching a sunset.
Victor stepped ahead. Just as he was about to call Maryann, one of Henrys father's friend stop them, and excused victor, for a minute talk with Henry.
When it was time to leave, Henry didn't want to. He lingered, watching as she put her shoes back on and tied her hair up. Then she quickly left with her stepmom.
He knew he hard lost the chances he had to speak with her.
"Maybe I'm cursed," he whispered to himself.
But even as the thoughts clouded his mind, somewhere deep in his heart, He prayed for another chance to meet with her again.
And for Henry, prayers were never just words, they were seeds. And seeds, when watered with faith, always bloom in due time.