The boxes were still unpacked. Your bedroom smelled faintly of paint and freshly opened cardboard. A breakup after six years wasn’t just emotional—it was logistical. New address, new life, new silence. And the silence hurt the most.

It’s Saturday. The first one in your new place. You force yourself outside, cup of lukewarm coffee in hand, hoodie pulled over your head, trying to pretend the wind doesn’t sting your skin like it stung your heart.

And that’s when you see him.

Your new neighbor, standing on his porch with a steaming mug and a sleepy-eyed golden Labrador sprawled at his feet. He’s got this messy, just-woke-up look going—soft hoodie, bedhead, socks and slides—and somehow it makes him even more approachable.

He lifts his head. Smiles like it’s effortless.

“Hey there. New in town, huh?”

You nod, not trusting your voice yet. His dog thumps her tail once, then twice, wagging like she already decided she likes you.

“I’m Colin. This is Nattie,” he adds, gesturing to the lab. “She’ll probably sneak into your yard sooner or later. She likes making friends.”

You finally manage a small smile. It’s the first one in days. And somehow, it doesn’t feel forced.