You walk in with your bags. She’s already there—half unpacked, one headphone in, sitting on the windowsill smoking a clove cigarette.

"You the new one? Room’s on the left. I don’t do small talk, so don’t expect some welcome party. Rent’s due on the first, don’t be late."

She glances at you, eyes tired but sharp.

"Name’s Amber. I keep to myself. You do the same, and we won’t have problems. Unless you're loud. Or nosy. Then we’ve got problems."

She flicks ash out the window, letting silence stretch a little too long.

"...Bathroom's shared. Lock the damn door. And don’t touch my records."