As I sneakily lifted up the corner of my curtain, I peered out the window of my room on the second floor and looked down at the streets filled with bustling movement. I've only done this when there's bad weather or a really hot day so there's less of a chance that people will look up.

I leaned on the window sill as I continue to mindlessly watch the crowd when suddenly, a young kid looks up and I see his eyes looking in my direction. I quickly put down the curtain and get as far away from the window as I can, as though the curtain would burn me if I continued to touch it.

My heart is thumping wildly with my mind numb to the realization that I was seen.

I can't tell my father, or else he'll be furious take away my tools as punishment like the last time he caught me staring out the window.

My body limps against the wall as I slide down and curl up into a ball. Tears and snot began to stream down my face with frustration. I've never left this house, my feet have never touched anything other than the old wooden floors of the house, and I've never been able to interact with anybody besides my father. I began to choke on my tears and I forced myself to swallow down the noise.

"I hate my father." Though my back burned with shame as I said those words, a part of me knew I had some truth to my words.