The night was one of those rare evenings when the city seemed to hush just enough for me to hear my neighbor through the thin walls of our apartment building. He was watching the NBA game, the same one I had on. The synchrony of our choices amused me. I could hear his cheers and groans, mirroring my reactions, yet we were strangers living side by side.
At first, I thought, "Should I go make friends?" However, a nagging voice whispered cautionary tales, "What if he is not friendly? Worse, what if he is dangerous?" My mind raced with the absurd thought of him being a murderer, though I chided myself for being so dramatic.
As the game progressed, his excitement (which sounded surprisingly high-pitched, almost like a girl's) became more frequent. I found myself smiling, his enthusiasm infectious. It was a strange connection, sharing a moment with someone I had never met. His reactions were louder than mine, and I wondered if he was jumping around his living room in excitement.
I stood by my window, peering subtly towards his apartment. At that moment, I realized how odd I must look, standing there doing nothing, appearing foolish, like a mad person with dementia. A laugh escaped me at the thought.
The game climaxed, and our cheers filled the narrow space between our apartments. In that instant, I made a decision. I would knock on his door and laugh about our mutual interest. However, just as I was about to step out, the game ended, and the moment passed.
I retreated, deciding that some connections are better left as they are – simple, unspoken, yet strangely comforting in their existence. Tomorrow is another game, and maybe I will gather the courage not just to listen but to reach out.