This time the City was shrouded in fog.
Lina wandered the empty streets for a long time, until a tall tower emerged from the fog.
It was strange.
Without doors.
Without balconies.
Only hundreds of windows.
A person stood at every window.
Watching.
Not the city.
Other windows.
The moment Lina came closer, a narrow gap quietly opened in the wall.
She stepped in.
A spiral staircase wound upward inside.
The higher she climbed, the more windows there were.
A person stood at every one.
No one spoke.
They only watched.
One woman was watching a painter on another floor.
The painter was watching a writer.
The writer – a businessman.
The businessman – an athlete.
The athlete – a musician.
Everyone was watching someone.
No one was doing anything.
Lina stopped at one window.
At the other end of the tower she saw a young man.
He was painting.
A man standing beside her sighed heavily.
– I wanted that too.
– Then why didn’t you paint?
Lina asked.
The man didn’t even turn around.
– Because he’s better.
At another window, a girl was watching a dancer.
– She’s so free…
– And you?
– It’s too late now.
– How old are you?
– Twenty-nine.
Lina smiled quietly.
But the girl wasn’t joking.
The higher she climbed, the emptier people’s eyes became.
They barely blinked.
Only watched.
As if their own lives were happening in other windows.
On the top floor stood a single person.
Old.
Very thin.
He held a spyglass in his hand.
Even as Lina approached, he didn’t lower his gaze.
– What are you watching?
She asked.
– Possibilities.
– Your own?
He laughed quietly.
– Someone else’s.
– Who are you?
– The keeper of the tower.
– Are you a demon?
– What do you think?
Lina didn’t answer.
He looked neither frightening nor dangerous.
Only tired.
– Why do they all look out the windows?
Lina asked.
– Because it’s very easy to live someone else’s life.
– But they’re only watching.
– Exactly.
He looked at her for the first time.
– Watching is much safer than creating.
He gestured toward the windows.
– See that woman?
Her whole life she watched other writers.
She wanted to write a book.
But before starting, she’d read one more.
And one more.
And another.
One day she decided all the good stories had already been written.
So she never started.
– And that man?
– He wanted to open a workshop.
But every year, someone came along who did it better.
So he decided to wait.
He’s still waiting.
– Are they jealous?
Lina asked.
– No.
They believe they’re jealous.
In reality…
They’re afraid.
– Of what?
– Of finding out who they’d be…
If they finally stopped looking at others.
The keeper handed Lina the spyglass.
– Look.
She looked.
She saw a woman playing the cello.
Then another.
Writing a poem.
A third.
Building a house.
A fourth.
Climbing a mountain.
They all looked talented.
Happy.
Brave.
– What do you see?
– People.
– No.
He shook his head.
– You only see their peaks.
Not their path.
He took the spyglass.
Flipped it around.
The image changed.
Now Lina saw the same musician.
Crying after a failed concert.
The same writer.
Tearing up manuscripts.
The businessman.
Bankrupt.
The athlete.
With a broken leg.
The painter.
Throwing paintings into the fire.
– Why don’t people see that?
She asked.
– Because comparison never shows the whole picture.
It only shows the result.
Never the cost.
Suddenly the whole tower trembled.
A man at a window whispered:
– Why not me?
A moment later a woman repeated the same thing.
Then another.
And another.
Soon the whole tower echoed with the same words.
– Why not me?
– Why not me?
– Why not me?
The keeper closed his eyes.
– That’s the wrong question.
– What’s the right one?
Lina asked.
The old man turned to her.
– Not…
Why him?
But…
Why haven’t I started yet?
Lina looked out the window.
Below, she saw a little girl.
Sitting on the sidewalk.
Drawing with chalk.
No one was watching her.
No one was applauding.
She didn’t even know the tower existed.
And she was the only one in that city who was actually creating something.
– Why isn’t she here?
Lina asked.
– Because those who create rarely have time to compare.
She went down the stairs.
Passing each window now, she saw not envy.
But stalled lives.
Not one of them had been destroyed by another person.
They had been stopped by a constant gaze fixed on someone else’s path.
When Lina woke, she opened the black notebook right away.
This time she didn’t write for long.
Only one sentence.
As long as my eyes keep searching for who I should be, my hands never get around to becoming who I actually can be.
After a long pause, a final line appeared.
Envy doesn’t take away talent. It takes away the time in which the talent could have grown.