The next morning, I decide I'm going to be normal about my mysterious neighbor.
Which lasts for maybe seven minutes.
I'm casually walking down the hallway like I own it.
Okay, maybe a little more than casually.
Maybe with a slight, intentional sway.
Maybe checking my nails a bit too often like I'm waiting for a compliment from the walls.
Maybe doing that thing where I angle my phone just right so it looks like I'm FaceTiming someone—but I'm really just filming a slow-mo montage of myself walking in my silk robe like I'm the final girl in a K-drama whose husband faked his death.
Not that I care if he sees me.
Please.
As if.
I'm just… existing beautifully.
I adjust the strap of my robe, flip my hair over one shoulder, and continue pacing down the hallway with my latte in hand.
Honestly, this hallway is way too long.
Why does it feel like I'm walking toward a season finale confrontation every time I leave my condo?
And the lighting?
Terrible.
I deserve soft cinematic lighting.
Not "luxury hospital corridor."
I stop near the elevator to check the video.
Cute.
Mysterious.
A little emotionally unstable.
Perfect.
Then—
BOOM.
I jump so hard my latte almost abandons me.
"What the—"
My head snaps toward the noise.
Of course.
Mr. Moved-In-Yesterday-And-Already-Acts-Like-He-Pays-My-Therapy-Bills.
Another loud sound echoes through the hallway.
Seriously?!
Didn't the building manager say his unit was soundproofed?
"Racing simulators," they said.
"Quiet setup," they said.
Well somebody lied because my soul just vibrated.
Fueled by rage and overpriced coffee, I stomp toward his door and knock like a woman personally betrayed by noise pollution.
The door opens.
And there he is.
Shirtless.
Tall.
Sleepy.
Annoyingly attractive.
Ugh. I hate how attractive he is.
Hair messy like he just woke up from a stressful dream where taxes existed.
He blinks at me slowly, clearly still half-asleep.
Meanwhile, I completely forget my train of thought for one humiliating second.
I recover quickly because I'm strong.
"What is that noise?" I demand, pointing dramatically behind him. "Do you know I have delicate eardrums? I almost saw my ancestors."
He just stares at me.
Then his eyes shift past my shoulder.
Toward my condo.
A beat passes.
Then—
Oh my gosh.
The kettle.
"SH*T! THE WATER!"
I spin around so fast I nearly trip over my slipper and sprint back to my unit.
I shove the door open.
Steam everywhere.
The kitchen looks like it lost a war.
The kettle is making horrifying little clicking noises.
Something smells burnt.
And my microwave cover has melted into abstract art.
I stare at the disaster in complete betrayal.
"All this," I whisper, deeply offended, "for hot water?"
Behind me, I hear a quiet exhale.
I turn.
He's standing at my doorway now, arms crossed.
Looking mildly concerned.
Or maybe mildly judgmental.
With him, honestly, it's hard to tell.
I grab my phone and immediately call the building manager.
"Hi, yes, emergency," I say while pacing. "My kitchen is releasing stress fumes and I'm emotionally unequipped for this."
Pause.
"No, there's no fire yet."
Another pause.
"Yes, I unplugged it."
Tiny pause.
"After screaming first, obviously."
The maintenance staff arrives a few minutes later and fixes everything in record time while I stand nearby holding my latte like a traumatized rich widow.
"I will never boil water again," I announce dramatically after they leave.
"You probably shouldn't."
I look at him.
"The judgment in your tone is unbelievable."
"You almost burned your condo down making water."
"Wow," I say, placing a hand over my chest. "I'm going through something and this is the support I receive?"
"You ran to accuse me first."
Okay.
Valid.
But still.
"You were suspiciously mysterious," I defend.
For a second, I catch the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Not a smile.
But close enough for me to spiritually celebrate.
I point at him dramatically.
"Wait. Was that amusement?"
"No."
"That was absolutely amusement."
He shakes his head once, already turning away.
"You talk too much."
"And yet you keep answering me."
That makes him pause.
Ooh.
Point for Elara.
He glances back at me, expression calmer now.
Less irritated.
Slightly entertained.
Dangerous.
Then he says, "Try not to destroy the building tomorrow."
And walks back into his condo.
RUDE.
Also?
Kinda funny.
Which is honestly worse.
I light a lavender candle the second I get back inside because the kitchen still smells vaguely toasted.
Then I collapse onto the couch dramatically and open my chat with Ari.
Me:
I almost died today.
Ari:
Again???
Me:
My kettle exploded in front of my hot neighbor.
Ari:
That's not death. That's flirting for unstable people.
I gasp out loud.
Me:
You're supposed to support me.
Ari:
I am supporting you. I'm supporting the storyline.
I throw a pillow at my phone.
It misses because life is cruel.
—
A few hours later, I decide fresh air might help me recover from the humiliation.
So I leave my unit wearing an oversized hoodie and sunglasses even though it's literally evening.
The moment I lock my door—
Boom.
There he is again.
Walking down the hallway in all black like he's on his way to emotionally distance himself at the gym.
He notices me immediately this time.
I lean against my doorframe casually.
"You're welcome for today's entertainment."
"Entertainment?" he repeats. "Looked expensive."
I place a hand over my heart.
"You're actually funny. That's upsetting."
"And you're always loud?"
"I prefer the word memorable."
That almost-smile appears again.
Tiny.
Quick.
But real.
I narrow my eyes immediately.
"Oh my gosh. You do have emotions."
"Don't get excited."
"Too late. This is a breakthrough for us."
"Us?"
I grin into my iced coffee. "See? You said us."
He exhales sharply through his nose like he's fighting a laugh and losing by maybe one percent.
Still counts.
The elevator dings open.
Before stepping inside, he finally looks at me properly.
"You always this dramatic?"
I smile sweetly.
"Only when I'm conscious."