The apartment next door

By the time I dragged the last box into my apartment, I was already regretting moving.

The building was close to campus, cheap enough for my budget, and according to the landlord, “perfect for students.”

He had forgotten to mention the broken elevator, the strange smell in the hallway, and the fact that my front door needed a small fight before it would close.

Still, the apartment was mine.

Technically rented, but mine enough.

I dropped the box beside the others and looked around.

A tiny kitchen. One bedroom. One bathroom. A living room currently filled with boxes.

It wasn’t much, but I liked it.

My phone buzzed.

Nina: Are you alive?

Me: Barely.

Nina: Send pictures.

I sent her one.

Her reply came immediately.

Nina: This is depressing.

Me: Thank you for the support.

I laughed and put my phone down.

Something crashed against the wall beside me.

I froze.

A second thud followed.

Then music started playing next door.

I stared at the wall.

Perfect.

My first evening here and I already had a noisy neighbor.

I tried to ignore it.

I unpacked some plates, arranged my mugs, and was opening another box when another bang came from next door.

I closed my eyes.

I was going to be mature.

Calm.

Patient.

Another thud shook the wall.

Five minutes later, I was standing outside apartment 11.

So much for maturity.

I knocked.

Nothing.

I knocked again.

The music stopped.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

And every complaint I had prepared disappeared.

The guy standing in front of me looked familiar.

Dark hair. Black hoodie. Relaxed expression.

Ethan Cole.

We had a class together.

It was a big lecture hall, so we had never spoken, but I knew who he was. Everyone did.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re the new neighbor.”

Not hello.

Not can I help you.

Just that.

I folded my arms.

“You’re loud.”

His mouth twitched.

“Nice to meet you too.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I stared at him.

“What exactly are you doing in there?”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Should I be worried that you want to know?”

“The banging.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“My chair broke.”

I looked past him.

One wooden chair was lying on its side.

“That made all that noise?”

“I tried to fix it.”

“And?”

He glanced at the chair.

“You can see how that went.”

I almost laughed.

Almost.

“Well, can you keep it down?”

He looked toward my apartment.

“You just moved in?”

“Today.”

“And you’re already complaining?”

“You were making enough noise for me to complain.”

“You were also making noise.”

“I was moving boxes.”

“Noise is noise.”

I stared at him.

“You’re irritating.”

“And you knocked on my door to introduce yourself.”

“I did not introduce myself.”

“That’s worse.”

He smiled slightly.

“I’m Maya,” I said.

“I know.”

I frowned.

“How?”

“We have class together.”

That caught me off guard.

“You know who I am?”

“You sit near the front.”

“And?”

“You ask questions.”

“I’ve asked like two.”

“That’s more than most people.”

I hated that he had noticed.

“Ethan,” he said.

“I know.”

Now he looked surprised.

I shrugged.

“We have class together.”

He laughed.

“I’ll keep the noise down.”

“Thank you.”

I turned toward my apartment.

“Maya.”

I looked back.

He nodded toward my door.

“It doesn’t close properly.”

“I noticed.”

“You have to lift it before you push.”

“How do you know?”

“I lived there last year.”

I stopped.

“You lived in my apartment?”

“For a few months.”

He walked over and showed me how to lift the handle before pushing the door.

It clicked shut immediately.

I stared at him.

“You’re joking.”

“Try.”

I copied him.

The door closed perfectly.

“You couldn’t have told the landlord to fix that?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“He said he would.”

“When?”

“Last year.”

I groaned.

Ethan laughed.

“Welcome to the building.”

“That is not comforting.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

I went back inside.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Nina: Met any neighbors?

I hesitated.

Me: Unfortunately.

Nina: Who?

Me: Ethan Cole.

Her reply came instantly.

Nina: YOU LIVE NEXT TO ETHAN COLE?

I laughed.

Then something tapped against the wall.

Three knocks.

I frowned.

I tapped once.

Three knocks came back.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

You tap like an angry grandmother.

I stared at the screen.

Another message appeared.

Landlord’s tenant group chat. Before you accuse me of stalking you.

I scoffed.

Me: Stop knocking on my wall.

Three knocks sounded immediately.

Then another message.

Ethan: This wall?

I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.

Me: Goodnight, Ethan.

Ethan: It’s seven thirty.

I tossed my phone onto a box beside me.

The apartment suddenly felt less quiet than it had an hour ago.

And for some reason, I didn’t mind.

That was probably my first mistake.