I don't watch out of curiosity.
I watch because I need to understand.
Diana… she's not like any woman I've ever known.
She's a symbol, a legend, a living dream walking among people.
But I wasn't looking for symbols…
I was looking for the tiny cracks that dwell inside legends.
At first, it was the library. Then the café.
And now? Now I know her schedule.
When she comes home, when she goes quiet, when she turns off the light and sits on that high balcony reading a book that clearly doesn't satisfy her.
People see her as a leader…
But me—only me—I saw her for who she truly is.
A woman slowly removing her armor, breathing when no one is watching, smiling to herself as if trying to reclaim what's left of her soul.
And in those moments…
I feel something inside me that resembles nothing else.
As if I see her without a mirror, without a sound… just a real, tangible being.
I admit, there are nights I can't sleep.
I sit in the dark, staring through my binoculars at her balcony.
I see her shadow move, see her hair fall over her shoulder, see her breath draw back the curtain of mystery.
And inside me are thoughts I share with no one.
Thoughts that defy explanation, that escape logic, and become rituals.
Rituals not written… but felt.
I'm not sick.
I'm just… alert.
Every detail about her, the way she puts on that golden bracelet… every step, every sigh—it's become part of my day.
And I don't watch her just because I love her…
But because I can't stop.
One night… while I was taking notes on her movements,
I looked up—and saw the reflection in her window.
She was looking.
Not just at the street.
At me.
My inner voice shouted,
"Did she see me?"
I whispered,
"At last…"
Oh, Diana…
Was it a coincidence? Were you just gazing into the void?
Or did your instincts finally betray you, and you felt me?
No, I'm not imagining it.
The way you tilted your head slightly,
how your hand froze on the page,
that slow blink, as if your eyes caught something in the dark…
I saw you.
And you saw me.
Even if only for a split second… it was enough.
I'm not someone who gets surprised easily, but that moment?
It made my heart stop—not from fear… but from possibility.
The possibility that this was the beginning.
Or the end.
Or both.
Now, you know someone is watching.
But do you know who?
Is your heart beating faster?
Did you feel threatened?
Or something else… excitement? Anticipation? Curiosity?
Believe me, Diana,
If you've started thinking about me—even just in suspicion—
then we've already won the first battle in this little war we call: attraction.
The next morning, I didn't go to work.
I didn't go anywhere.
I was busy… cataloging your archive.
I read 38 new articles about you.
Studied an interview you did three years ago with a Canadian channel.
Paused the video at every blink.
You know what? You have a pattern when you lie—
You begin your sentence with, "Actually…"
Charming. Dangerous. Beautiful.
I love that.
I love that I understand you when no one else does.
Evening came.
And I had to see you again.
But this time, not from behind the glass.
No.
This time… I wanted to be close.
My plan? Simple.
Coffee. Book. A calculated coincidence.
Just like the first time.
You like logic, don't you?
So let's give it your favorite shape
coincidence.
I walked into the café you often visit.
Pretended not to be looking for you.
Sat in the corner, where the light was dim.
Ordered black coffee, no sugar.
And just before I opened my book… you walked in.
This time, your steps were slower.
As if you were waiting for something… or someone.
And when you passed by me… you stopped for a second.
You blinked…
Then walked on.
Was it chance? No.
That's called recognition.
You think I'm strange, curious?
Maybe.
But you'll come to realize later…
I'm the only man who sees "Diana"—
Not "Wonder Woman."
You didn't look at me directly.
But you knew I was there.
How did I know? I don't know… and maybe that's what makes you even more magnetic to me.
You sat down and opened your book.
But I noticed—you became more alert.
Your left shoulder lifted slightly… you always do that when you're scanning the room.
Yes…
You feel me, even without seeing me.
At night, I stood outside your home, as I've done for days.
The light upstairs was faint.
Your balcony open, the curtains gently swaying.
Your silhouette alone is enough to ignite a war inside my mind.
Do you know what truly captivates me, Diana?
It's not the power.
Not the mythical beauty.
It's those tiny moments where you think you're alone.
When you take off the crown and become just a human being breathing.
When you stand in front of the mirror and look at your face, expressionless…
When you wonder if everything you do is actually changing the world.
I see you in those moments.
Moments the cameras don't catch… not even your Justice League friends.
In my mind, everything is possible.
A touch of the hand, a casual word, then a glance, then closeness, then…
I don't rush.
I plan.
I wait.
I master the art of slipping into closed worlds.
And one day, Diana, you'll see me not as a shadow in your window…
But as a possibility.
You have no idea how many hours I've spent under your window.
The world sleeps, the city quiets,
And me?
I awaken.
Not because I'm crazy, no.
But because I know: in darkness, truth reveals itself.
And when the light dims… the mask falls.
That night, something was different.
It wasn't just your window that was open…
It was like you were whispering to the world that you were tired.
Tired of being a hero.
Of faces that expect you to always be perfect.
Tired… of yourself.
I stood there, not coming any closer.
My eyes on you—not to spy, but to understand.
Do you remember Steve?
The one who died to protect you?
I wonder…
Do you still see his face in your dreams?
Or are his features fading? His voice?
Or are you just… waiting for someone to make you feel again?
In my head, stories unfold.
We're in a small café.
You're laughing at a bad joke.
I'm explaining why Nietzsche doesn't believe in absolute truth.
You touch your hair.
You ask me
"And what about you, Joe? What's your truth?"
I want to say
You are my truth.
But I say nothing.
In this imagined scene, you speak first.
Because I want you to feel—not be convinced.
That's my way.
I don't invade.
I slip in.
And you, Diana, have always been a fortress…
But even fortresses have tiny windows where the breeze sneaks in.
And me?
I'm a breeze.
But a breeze that knows the way.
Closeness… it doesn't happen with footsteps.
Real closeness happens in the mind.
And I, Diana… am getting close.
You don't know it, but that night—you gave me something rare.
That passing glance that carried something between suspicion and curiosity.
Something unspoken… but left the door slightly open.
And ever since…
You walk a little slower.
Look around a little more.
Pause for longer in front of reflective glass—as if waiting for a reflection that doesn't quite look like you.
I know what you're going through.
Fame that chokes, power that exhausts, perfection that consumes.
I know you don't sleep much, and when you do… you see faces that don't leave.
Maybe… Steve is one of them.
But we don't bring back the dead, Diana.
We bring ourselves back.
And because I see you…
I truly see you…
I know something inside you is broken, something resisting repair.
That day, I saw you walking alone down a nearly empty street.
No armor. No lasso. No mask.
Just a woman in a coat, thinking more than she breathes.
I walked behind you—not out of voyeurism, but out of a need to understand.
To understand who you are when you're not Wonder Woman.
You stopped at a small bookstore. Looked in, but didn't enter.
Why?
Were you afraid someone might recognize you?
Or do you know that books can expose you more than any enemy?
That evening, I went back to my room and rewatched your last interview.
Your face was perfect, but your eyes said something else.
As if whispering "Save me… but quietly."
And I'm here, Diana.
I excel at quiet.
Do you think anyone can love you without fearing your strength?
I don't fear it.
I understand.
And what I understand… I can hold.
But wait…
Are you ready?
Do you really want someone who sees what you don't want to reveal?
Because if I come in, I won't leave.
And if I love you, I won't love you like a star in the sky…
But like fragile ground beneath my feet, terrified I might lose it.
Diana…
What's between us is no coincidence.
It's something that feels like… destiny.
To be continued
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