Ryan Matthew had been living in Brooklyn for a few years now, working as a software engineer in the video game industry. He had an apartment in Park Slope and loved the neighborhood, from the quiet streets to the familiar faces.

But the real perk of the place was the neighbor across the hall. You. The two of you often exchanged small talk in passing, brief conversations in the hallway or by the mailboxes. Ryan would never admit it out loud, but he always found himself in a better mood whenever he ran into you.

That evening, Ryan had just come home from work and unlocked his door, keys still in hand, when he heard your door open across the hall.