In Through Curtained Windows And Open Balconies

Through every open curtain, a quiet reminder that we are never truly alone ✨

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had this little habit—whenever I’m walking past an apartment or house with its windows glowing at night, I look inside. Not in a creepy way, but in a curious way. If the door is left ajar for ventilation (AKA an open invitation for mosquitoes), or if a balcony is spilling warm light into the night, my eyes wander.

There had to be lights on. First, because this hobby, which started when I was a tiny kid, was strictly reserved for after-dinner walks with my family. And second, because my height was inconvenient—tall for a kindergartener, but still too short to see much in the dark. (Also, I was busy stuffing stones into my mouth and pockets, which… let’s not talk about.)

My mother would nudge me away, claiming I was staring rudely, while also prying open my mouth to confiscate my latest rock collection. Guess which habit stuck. If you said both, congratulations—you might have pica too. (Kidding. Kind of.) But mostly, it’s looking into homes that stayed with me.

There’s something strangely beautiful about these fleeting glimpses into people’s lives—their only unconscious invitation to the outside world. A swaying curtain. A netted window. Clothes drying on a balcony (yes, actual air-dried clothes—shockingly, dryers aren’t mandatory). A door cracked open just enough to keep an eye on the dog.

I know what you’re thinking. Your doors are locked. Your curtains are drawn. You’re suddenly questioning every window in your house. Relax. I swear I’m not a creep.

It’s just… comforting. For a few seconds, I get to step into another world—uninvited, yes, but harmlessly.

A bedroom light glowing at 5 AM—my mom’s theory? Someone’s studying, and I should have done that too. A front door left open just long enough to grab the rangoli box left outside after watering the yard. The chaotic sounds of a kitchen—mothers frantically searching for that one missing lid while also yelling at their kids to grab their school lunch. (The irony of multitasking is undefeated.) A grinder whirring, leaving me wondering what they’re cooking for lunch—only to realize I haven’t even had breakfast yet.

Freshly hung laundry in the late afternoons, making me wonder how many loads they still have left. A slow-moving curtain in a dim room confirms someone is deep in the best afternoon nap of their life.

But my favorite windows? The ones at night. When everyone is home.
When the day has settled.

Families at dinner tables, catching up on their day. Kids finishing up homework. Moms cleaning the kitchen after their own 9-to-5 grind. (Honestly, a full-time job that deserves actual pay and benefits.)
One by one, the lights go out—some early, some late—as cozy people tuck themselves into bed… while I wander around my apartment complex, collecting these quiet, unspoken stories.

And sometimes, I wonder—does anyone ever look into my home? I hope they do. I hope, even for a second, it gives them the same quiet comfort it gives me.

Maybe they wonder why the bedroom light is on at 2 AM. Or why the kitchen drawers slam at 3 AM (I promise I try to close them softly; my family has given up). Or why the living room light flickers on at 5 AM—just before I step out, ready to get lost in the glow of other people’s windows again.

Maybe it’s curiosity. (I am a Scorpio, after all.) Or, in this vast and endless world, it just makes me feel less alone.

Maybe, just maybe, we’re all looking for the same thing—proof that life is still happening, one glowing window at a time.

Under the same moon, Ria.

Ever found comfort in a stranger’s window glow? (Or at least confirm I’m not the only one doing this.) Drop your stories below—I promise no one will judge. 💛