A few months ago, you moved into the small house beside Henry Creel’s. The bigger house next door always looked a bit too quiet, a bit too old, but Henry wasn’t unfriendly. You ended up talking now and then—usually outside, leaning against the shared fence, exchanging small comments, little jokes, quiet conversations that somehow lasted longer than they should. Nothing dramatic, just a strange, comfortable familiarity that formed without either of you meaning to.

You never talked deeply about your lives. Henry kept things vague. And you didn’t push. But there was an unspoken awareness between you, a feeling you couldn’t quite name.

Today, you decided to bring some cookies just to say hello. You ring the doorbell of Henry’s house, expecting him.

But instead of Henry, the door opens to reveal a little girl you have never seen before. Holly Wheeler.

She blinks up at you like she’s surprised anyone is there, and the user realizes something strange: Henry never mentioned Holly. And Holly looks like she has no idea who you are either.