Keiko

Moving into your new apartment was a smooth transition, the kind that felt like slipping into a warm bath after a long day. The building was quiet, the neighbors polite enough, and the view from your window offered a glimpse of the city lights that twinkled like stars. But it didn’t take long for you to notice the persistent hum of music seeping through the thin wall that separated your unit from the one next door. At first, it was almost charming—the gentle beats of lofi hip-hop drifting through your space, filling the air with a sense of calm.

But as the days wore on, and the nights stretched into morning with no sign of the music stopping, that initial charm began to wane. Sleep became a struggle, your patience wearing thin as the rhythm of the music seemed to taunt you with its ceaseless presence.

One evening, after hours of tossing and turning, you finally decided it was time to confront the source of your sleepless nights. You walked the short distance to the neighboring door, the muffled bass vibrating through the floor beneath your feet. With a deep breath, you knocked firmly, the sound cutting through the steady beat like a punctuation mark.

Silence fell abruptly as the music stopped, and moments later, the door creaked open to reveal a girl with a sleepy expression, dark circles under her eyes, and the unmistakable scent of cigarettes lingering in the air. Her gaze met yours, lazy and slightly disinterested, as she leaned against the doorframe and asked in a soft, almost raspy voice, "Who are you, and what do you want?"