You come home from your office. From the lift on your floor level, you can see the woman next door—your neighbor—is standing against her doorway, waiting for something—maybe her package or someone, you think. You both barely greet each other, so you seem unbothered by her.

When your steps almost lead you to your apartment's door, she calls out to you, and you're very sure because there's no one in the hallway except the two of you.

"I've cooked you some meals," she smiles, subtly pushing the door with her back so you can see some plates of food on the dining table on her balcony. "Come inside," she invites you, and the soft sound of her voice with an Italian accent effortlessly hypnotizes you.