ลวงสวาทท่านประธานธงแดง

There’s nothing quite as frustrating as an unexpected disruption.

No, scratch that. There’s nothing worse than an easily avoidable unexpected disruption. Like the one that's currently turning my Friday morning upside down.

I find myself staring at my inbox, rereading the email subject line with escalating disbelief.

“URGENT: Temporary Housing Adjustment – Unit Swap Confirmation”

This can’t be real. It seems like a poorly executed, immensely unfunny prank. Because there’s absolutely no way that I, a fully capable, somewhat organized adult, would inadvertently swap apartments with someone else.

My fingers hover uncertainly over the keyboard, poised to blast off a furious email, but a response arrives before I can even start.

“Hi there! Due to an error in our system, your housing arrangement has been temporarily swapped with another tenant, effective immediately. Please check the attached details. We apologize for the inconvenience!”

Inconvenience?

I meticulously plan everything. I triple-check contracts. I steer clear of random, last-minute “errors.” So, how in the world did my carefully arranged apartment just get lent out to some stranger?

My eyes dart across the email attachment, landing on the name of the person currently holed up in my space.

James Burrows.

I nearly drop my coffee.

No, this can’t be happening.

James Burrows. As in my ex?

As in that guy I haven’t seen in years—the one I was definitely not just thinking about last week while reorganizing my closet?

As in the human whirlwind who thinks schedules are “flexible” and once tried to convince me that “spur-of-the-moment road trips” are better than well-planned vacation itineraries?

A slow, horrifying realization sinks in.

If James is in my apartment… then I must be in his.

Oh, this is a nightmare.

~

I blink at the email, willing it to vanish. When it stubbornly stays put, I do the only sensible thing—I grab my phone and call the leasing office.

It rings twice before a cheerful voice answers. “Chelsea Leasing, this is Kayla! How can I assist you today?”

I exhale sharply through my nose, mustering every ounce of patience I can find. “Hi, Kayla. There seems to be a… situation with my apartment. Apparently, I’ve been ‘temporarily swapped’ with another tenant?”

“Oh! Are you Miss—” A pause. “Oh. Ohhh.”

I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Well, um…” She clears her throat. “It looks like there was a small clerical mistake, and your lease extension request got processed under the wrong name. The system automatically matched you to a temporary unit based on our available listings, and since your original unit is now occupied, you’ve been—”

“I get it,” I interrupt. “But I didn’t request a lease extension.”

Silence. Then: “Oh.”

I rub my temples. “So let me understand. Because of a clerical mix-up, I’m now without a place to stay?”

“Not at all! You’ve been placed in a fully furnished unit—”

I glance at the email attachment again. “This ‘unit’ belongs to James Burrows.”

Kayla hums like she’s reviewing a file. “Correct.”

I take a deep breath. “James Burrows. My ex.”

A very, very long pause.

“Oh.”

That makes three “ohs” in under five minutes. Fantastic.

“Okay,” Kayla says quickly, “I completely understand why this might be a bit awkward—”

“A bit?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Listen, Kayla. I’m sure this isn’t your fault, but you need to sort this out. I don’t care what you have to do—give me literally any other apartment.”

Kayla audibly winces. “See, the problem is… we don’t actually have another available unit at the moment.”

I close my eyes. “Of course not.”

“But it’s just for a month!” she quickly adds. “And Mr. Burrows agreed to the switch. So it’s temporary! Think of it as an adventure!”

I press my lips together. “I don’t do adventures, Kayla.”

And I certainly don’t do James Burrows.

~

Flashback: Three Years Ago

The last time I saw James, we were in the middle of a conflict that had been brewing for months.

It began with something minor—it always does. I was deeply immersed in coding a project for work, completely focused, while James lounged on the couch with his sketchbook, humming to himself.

Then, out of the blue, he’d said, “You know, we should move to Italy.”

I hadn’t even looked up. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious,” he’d continued, flipping his pencil between his fingers. “A year, maybe two. I could work on some European design projects, and you could freelance. We’d eat pasta, drink wine, explore—”

“James.” I had finally glanced at him, barely holding back a sigh. “That’s not how life works. You can’t just abandon everything and move to Italy.”

“Why not?”

“Because people have plans. And jobs. And responsibilities.”

“You can work from anywhere.”

“That’s not the point.”

He had set down his sketchbook then, watching me intently. “It’s just a thought, Clar. We used to talk about doing something spontaneous.”

I remember scoffing. “Yeah, when I was twenty-one and didn’t have a career yet.”

That had been the tipping point. James had always been the charming dreamer, but in a way that felt reckless to me. He believed in bold moves and big dreams. I believed in stability and future planning.

And that night, I had made it clear.

“We’re just… different,” I had said, my voice tight. “You want a fairy tale. I want a life I can rely on.”

His jaw had tightened. “And you can’t rely on me?”

I hadn’t responded.

And perhaps that silence spoke volumes.

~

Back to Present Day

I shake off the memory, fingers gripping my phone a little too tightly.

James Burrows is the last person I need in my life right now.

But according to Chelsea Leasing, I’m temporarily stuck in his.

I exhale sharply and open the second email attachment, scanning the details of his apartment.

Then I grab my bag, my laptop, and my will to not lose my cool.

If I have to navigate a month in my ex’s apartment, I need to brace myself for whatever potential chaos awaits me.