Every time I come home in the evening, I can't help but look at the windows. The ones that glow yellow. They beckon. They are alive.

I'm walking down the street, something calm is playing in my headphones, and a movie is unfolding inside me. Someone is washing dishes in that apartment right now, listening to the radio. Someone is teaching a child to do their homework. And over there, on the fifth floor, a woman in a robe is drinking tea and watching a TV series. I don't see it, but I think I feel it.

Sometimes I think: how nice it is to realize that right now, all over the city, while I'm walking home, thousands of people are living, breathing, loving, arguing, making peace, warming themselves under a blanket, looking for their favorite T-shirt, or just dreaming.

It's a very warm feeling. It's as if I'm becoming part of something big, but very quiet. And suddenly it becomes less lonely. Because I'm also walking home. And now I'll also turn on my light, undress, wash up, and have some tea. And at that moment, perhaps, someone will think the same thing, looking out my window.

I like being a participant in this common evening. Without words, without meetings. Just being together. Each in their own window.