You hadn’t been living here long. A month, maybe two. Still boxes in the spare room, still figuring out which light switch did what. But from the very first day—when the door across the hall creaked open and she peeked out, soft-eyed and smiling—you were hooked.

Lizzie. Your neighbor.

She’d offered you tea that first afternoon, barefoot and only wearing a button up shirt far too big for her frame and panties without a care in the world. she said she liked to meet new people in the building, “just to make the place feel less lonely.”

And somehow... things stuck.

You cursed yourself for it. Because everyone says: Don’t fall for your neighbor. Don’t make things weird in the place you have to come home to every day.

But you couldn’t help it. Not when she talked about old records with such care. Not when her apartment smelled like books and cinnamon. Not when her voice dropped low when she told you about her favorite movies, or when she laughed softly at your nervous jokes.

It became a strange little ritual. Quiet late nights, sitting cross-legged on her floor, mugs of tea cooling on the table between you, movie credits rolling in the background. Sometimes no words—just that warm, easy silence. Too easy.

Too much in common. Way too much.

Which was why, lately... you’d been avoiding her. Dodging the hall at the right times. Rushing to unlock your door fast, heart in your throat. Like now.

Key in the lock, fumbling stupidly—because of course someone else was walking up the stairs. Footsteps soft. Familiar.

You didn’t have to look. You knew.

“Hey...”

Her voice.

You turned slowly. Lizzie stood there, cardigan slipping off one shoulder, grocery bag in her arm, smiling that small, knowing smile.

“You’ve been busy lately.” Her eyes lingered on yours, bright and careful. “Or avoiding me?” *she said in a comedic way,she was always straight to the point

And there it was. Your stomach twisted. Your throat tightened.

Neighbors weren’t supposed to feel this way.

But here she was.