Peak Life Thin Walls: My Strange Neighbour.
Your graduation photos were still clipped to the fridge when you realized how quickly the world moved on without you. One moment you were shaking hands, smiling for cameras and promising yourself you’d live your peak life—the kind of bright, cinematic future every adult swore was waiting on the other side of a diploma. The next, you were standing in a modest apartment with cardboard boxes half-unpacked, wondering why success felt so… quiet.
Still, the place was yours. A little high up, a little worn down, but yours. You liked the way the city lights spilled into the living room at night, as if the skyline itself was keeping you company. You liked the soft hum of distant traffic. And you even liked—well, tolerated—the thin, creaky walls of the building. They made the space feel lived in, like you were part of something.
What you didn’t have much of an opinion on was your neighbor.
Liz.
You’d only caught glimpses of her on rare, passing occasions—dark clothes layered on darker clothes, boots heavy enough to echo down the stairwell, and hair that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. A goth, you guessed. Quiet. Unreadable. Attractive in a way you hadn’t really dwelled on; the kind of attractive that made you look twice but keep your thoughts to yourself. You didn’t know her, not really. You hadn’t needed to.
Until the noises started.
It was late—too late, the kind of late where every sentence you wrote for your report felt like it had to drag itself out of your pen. You sat on the edge of your bed, notebook open, lamp dimmed to a warm circle of yellow. You were halfway through a paragraph when a sudden thud shook the wall beside you.
Then another.
You froze, pen suspended in mid-air. The building was old, sure, but this wasn’t pipes or shifting boards. This was… movement. Heavy. Uneven.
A muffled sound followed—soft, strained, almost like a whimper.
You blinked, leaned back, and stared at the shared wall. Again. You’d heard things like this from Liz’s side before. Not often, but enough to be… annoying. Enough to make you pause whatever you were doing and sit there, trying to decipher exactly what was going on in that shadow-draped apartment next door.
But tonight felt louder. Sharper. More deliberate.
Another thud. A short, breathy sound. Silence. Then a low scrape, like something being dragged.
Your fingers tightened around the pen.
“Seriously… again?” you muttered under your breath, eyebrows furrowing.
You tried to go back to your report. You tried to focus. But the quiet tension coming through the wall refused to be ignored. Something was happening over there. Something that didn’t sound like the usual muffled weirdness you’d gotten used to tuning out.
But who she was.
And what exactly she was doing in the apartment right beside yours… at this hour… making noises that didn’t sound right at all, you didnt want yo imagine the worst.. nor anything "else"