"Hmmm!" I stretched lazily. "It's another lonely Friday again." TGIF... I rolled my eyes. My phone rang, and I glanced at the screen. Bia. My face brightened slightly. "Hi, Bia." "Good morning, grumpy Barbara!" "Hmmm... morning." "It's F-R-I-D-A-Y! Friday! Today! Can't you be different for just one day? A little lighter?" "Babe, for real, I'm not in the mood." "Look, I know you've buried yourself in work for as long as I can remember. You need to come out of your shell. I mean, enjoy life like the baddie that you are!" "Hmmm... Bia, I'm not ready to go over this topic again. For real." "You need a man! No! I mean, a good, thick chocolate guy in your life to lighten you up." "Very funny, Bia." I was about to continue when something caught my attention. My neighbor's door had just opened. I quickly moved toward the window and peeked outside. My eyes landed on a shiny, bald, clean-shaven, caramel-skinned man. I froze. "Hello? Barbara!" "Huh? Yeah. Hi." "Are you okay?" "Yeah! Sure. I am." "No, you're not. Tell me, babe. What's going on?" "Hmmm... I have this neighbor who moved in recently." "Ouuuh! Spill the tea, babe!" "I mean... I've never found bald men attractive, but he seems to tickle my fancy a bit." "Mmmm! I see something happening soon!" "Nah! No, babe! Don't be so sure about it. I don't think it would work because we're kind of different." "How do you mean different?" "Like, he's more of the corporate-looking, calmly tamed kind of man. He looks like someone who would never entertain any craziness or distraction." "You always conclude on things! Why don't you give him a trial?" "I really don't want to be ignored or, worse, embarrassed." "Trust me, Barb! You won't. I mean, risking it for a good D won't hurt." "Hahaha!" We both burst into laughter. "I don't know. I'll just think about it." "Okay! So, care to join me for ladies' night today?" "Okay, then. Just because you're rooting for this bald choco." "Hahaha! That's my girl! So, 6 p.m.?" "Okay, cool." "Alright then! Catch you later!" "Yeah, babe!" The call ended. "Ouuuuuu!" I took another long stretch. "Hmmm... Thank goodness it's my day off today." I spent the next few hours doing my laundry, washing the dishes, and putting my apartment in order before taking a bath and preparing breakfast. "Hmmm... yeah. I need to rest." After breakfast, I settled down to do some online work. Before I knew it, it was already 2 p.m. I decided to take a short nap. Four hours later, I woke up to the loud, annoying honking of a car. "Hmmm?" I dragged myself out of bed, staggering as I tried to get my sleepy eyes to adjust. I opened my door and stepped into the front space of my apartment. Peering through the open spaces of the burglary bars, I tried to see what was happening. But I couldn't see anyone. Only the irritating honking continued. I rolled my eyes in distress. Then I caught sight of him. Those eyes. The same eyes I had noticed earlier that morning. It was him. The bald, caramel-skinned man. I couldn't help staring at him. For what felt like two whole minutes, I simply stood there, staring at him as though someone had paused the entire scene. "My apologies. Did I wake you up?" I was so lost in his presence that I barely heard him. I could only watch his lips move. "Hello?" "Oh! I... hi!" "Did I wake you up?" "N-no! I mean... I just... you know..." He smiled slightly. "I'm sorry. I pressed the wrong keys." "Yeah! It's fine. I'm okay." "Okay." He gave me a little wink before heading back into his apartment. I rushed into my room. "Barbara! What's wrong with you?" I slapped both hands against my cheeks. "Oh, Lord! Help me! I've never fallen for a guy so easily. Not him! No!" My phone suddenly rang. "Oh my! What's the time? Bia!" I rushed to pick it up. "Hey, babe!" "Hi." "Hope you're getting ready?" "Uh... yeah! What's the time?" "Really, Barb? It's 5:20. We agreed on 6 p.m., remember?" "Ugh! Yes! Yeah! I didn't forget. I'll catch you soon." I ended the call. "Shit!" I jumped off the bed. "Almost late!" --- By 5:20 p.m., I was already getting ready for the evening. Soon, I left my apartment to meet Bia and the others. The night was filled with laughter, gist, and endless conversations. We enjoyed each other's company, making the most of our ladies' night. Later that night, I finally headed home. --- I should have known coming home this late would be a mistake. By the time I pushed through the compound gate, the place was almost completely dark. Only one or two lights remained on, casting faint pools of light across the walkway. Everyone else was probably asleep, and judging by the silence around me, I was the only one foolish enough to be coming home at this hour. I slipped off my heels and held them in my left hand, keeping my handbag in the other as I carefully made my way across the compound. The drinks from earlier had left me slightly tipsy, and walking quietly in the dark while trying not to stumble was proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated. When I reached my apartment, I began searching through my bag for my keys. "Where are you?" I whispered, digging through its contents. My fingers finally closed around them, but before I could pull them out, the bag slipped from my hand and landed on the ground with a soft thud. I froze, then quickly crouched to gather everything before the sound could wake anyone. That was when I noticed I wasn't alone. I slowly looked up. Daniel stood on the balcony upstairs, a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. It was obviously part of his usual routine, except tonight, his attention wasn't on the book. He was looking directly at me. For a moment, I didn't know what to do. Then I became painfully aware of how ridiculous I must have looked, barefoot and holding my heels, slightly tipsy, with half the contents of my handbag scattered around me. Daniel gave me a small nod. "Good evening." His voice was calm, as though he hadn't just caught me sneaking into the compound like a thief. "Good evening," I replied. I managed a faint smile, hoping it would make the situation less embarrassing. His eyes briefly dropped to the heels in my hand before returning to my face. "Late night?" I let out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. "Apparently." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Good night, then." "Good night." I turned back to my door, suddenly eager to get inside before I could embarrass myself any further. After unlocking it, I hurried in and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I let out a long breath. "Oh my God!" Why did he have to be awake? I dropped my heels beside the door and headed toward my bedroom, but halfway there, I stopped. For some reason, I found myself turning back toward the window. I walked over and carefully pulled the curtain aside. Daniel was still upstairs, his attention seemingly back on his book, the glass of wine resting comfortably in his hand. I stared at him for a moment, wondering how he could possibly still be awake at this hour. I quickly let the curtain fall and turned away from the window. But tonight, something had changed. For the first time, Daniel had noticed me.

I woke up on Saturday with a mild headache and a clear memory of everything I wished I could forget. The heels in my hand, my bag spilling across the ground, and Daniel's polite nod as I sneaked into my compound like a burglar. I decided to avoid the stairs and balcony for at least a week. By ten o'clock, however, my empty fridge forced me out, and I returned from the market with far more shopping than I could carry. Daniel was coming down the steps in a grey T-shirt and joggers. It was unsettling. The man on the balcony looked freshly ironed; this one looked like he'd been allowed to relax. "I'm fine," I said, just as one of the vegetable bags slid down my arm. He caught it before it hit the ground. "Clearly." "I had it." "Of course you did." He took the rice and the two heaviest bags without asking again. "Ground floor, right?" "How do you know that?" "I watched you hunt for your keys last night. It wasn't hard to work out." I groaned. Please don't bring that up. "I won't." He held the gate open with his elbow. "Although I'll say, most people would have abandoned the bag. You went back for every single lipstick." "Most people would have been sober." "That's fair." He smiled, a little crooked, and for a moment I forgot to be embarrassed. "I'm Daniel, by the way. We've said hello a few times and I still haven't introduced myself properly." "Barbara." "Barbara," he said, as if testing how it sounded. "Nice to meet you properly." At my door, he set the bags down carefully, refused to come in, and glanced at the eggs. "They survived." That's the real victory." "Thank you. Really." "Anytime." He went back upstairs, and I stood there much longer than necessary, holding a tray of eggs and trying to work out why my face felt warm. I don't like owing people. It makes me restless, and when I'm restless, I bake. I had bought too many apples, so an apple pie on Sunday afternoon was practical, not sentimental. That's what I told myself while the kitchen filled with cinnamon and I worried about the crust. I cut a generous half, covered it with foil, and climbed the stairs before I could talk myself out of it. He opened the door with his sleeves rolled up and a laptop glowing behind him. For a second, he looked blank. Then he saw the plate. "This is for carrying my shopping," I said. "So we're even." "You didn't have to do that." "I know. That's why it counts." He lifted the foil, and his face changed in a way I didn't expect, as if I'd handed him something far more important than pie. "You made this?" "Yes. Don't look so surprised." "I'm not surprised. I'm just not used to people baking for me." It was a strange thing to say, and he seemed to realize it, because he cleared his throat and thanked me again, more briskly this time. I went downstairs thinking about the first half of that sentence and not the second. An hour later, I found a bottle of red wine outside my door with a yellow sticky note on it. Pie review: dangerous. Someone should regulate this. - D. I laughed out loud, alone in my front space, like an idiot. After that, our paths seemed to cross more often, though I couldn't tell whether it was coincidence or simply that I had started noticing him. On Monday morning, I was locking my door when he came through the gate, carrying two cups of coffee. "I made too much," he said, holding one out. I looked at the cup, then at him. "You made too much?" "That's what I'm saying." I took it. "Convenient." He smiled. "Very." On Tuesday, a courier left a package for him with me, and he came down that evening to collect it. He found me at my small table with a laptop, a plate of beans, and a very bad mood. "Rough day?" "My client wants the same report in four different formats." "Did they say why?" "They don't need to. They're the client." "Ah." He nodded gravely. "My condolences." I laughed, and somehow he stayed for twenty minutes, talking about nothing in particular. He worked in logistics, which he described as "moving things from one place to another and apologising when they arrive late." He was hopeless with plants. There was one on his balcony that he admitted, with some shame, had been dying since March. "Water it less," I said, "and move it away from the glass. It isn't dying. It's being drowned and cooked at the same time." "That's a harsh review." "It's an accurate one." By Thursday, the plant had been moved. By Friday, it had a new leaf. "It listens to you," Daniel told me, looking genuinely pleased, and I decided I would think about why that made me smile later. On Saturday, his friends arrived. I was taking out the trash when I heard them, two men laughing and arguing on the stairs. One was tall and loud, with a gold chain. The other was shorter, in glasses, with the look of someone who had been dragged along. Daniel came behind them carrying a bag of ice and looking resigned. "This," announced the tall one, pointing at me, "must be the pie." I blinked. "Sorry?" "Ken," Daniel said. "What? You said there was a neighbour who bakes. I'm just identifying her." He held out his hand. "Ken. That's Sam. We've known this one since university. Don't believe anything he says about us." "He hasn't said anything about us," Sam added, "which is suspicious, because he never says anything about anyone." "I said she baked," Daniel said mildly. "You said it twice." Ken grinned. "For you, that's a speech." Heat crept up my neck. "I'm Barbara. It was just a pie." "It's never just a pie," Sam said. "Honestly, it's good to see him." He stopped, as though he'd suddenly realised he'd said too much. "Since... you know. It's good to see him out of the house." There was a very small silence. Ken looked at Sam. Sam looked at his shoes. Daniel looked at neither of them. "Upstairs," Daniel said, in a calm voice that wasn't quite his usual one. "Both of you. Be useful." They went. Daniel stayed half a second longer. "Ignore them. They have no home training." "They seem nice." "They are. Mostly." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Then he followed them upstairs. I stood there with the trash bag in my hand, thinking about that one word. Since. Since when? I could have asked him. I almost did, twice that week. But the sky turned grey that night, the rain came down, and the question stayed upstairs with him. Yet, I couldn't stop thinking about Sam's words. It was good to see him out of the house. I had known Daniel for barely a week, but somehow, I was beginning to notice the little things he never said. And now, I couldn't help wondering what had happened to him before I came along.

It rained all week, the heavy kind that made the compound smell of wet earth and kept everyone indoors. By Thursday, I had run out of reasons to leave my apartment, and my work had run out of patience with me. At eight that night, someone knocked. Daniel stood on my doorstep with an umbrella and a tablet under his arm. "Quick question. Do you have popcorn?" "Popcorn?" "I have a movie and no snacks, which feels irresponsible. I thought I'd check before I drove out in the rain." "You are not driving out in this." "That's what I was hoping you'd say." I did have popcorn, as it happened, and a bar of chocolate I had been guarding. I told myself I was being neighbourly and carried both upstairs. I had only been to his door before, never inside. Now I looked properly. The place was neat but not cold: shelves of paperbacks, a couch with one worn corner, a small speaker playing something quiet. On the bookshelf, among the books, a framed photo lay face down. I noticed it and told myself it was none of my business. We spent twenty minutes arguing over what to watch. He wanted a thriller. I wanted something where nobody died. "A comedy," I said, "or I'm going home." "Compromise: a comedy with a small amount of suspense." "That's a thriller with jokes." "Exactly." We ended up with a heist comedy that was better than either of us expected. I laughed loudly at the wrong moments, and he laughed at the right ones. Halfway through, he said, "You steal the popcorn when you think I'm not looking." "I'm not stealing. I'm redistributing." His mouth twitched. "Of course." Around ten, his phone buzzed on the arm of the couch. He glanced at it, and something in his face closed like a door. He pressed the side button to silence it. "You can answer it." "It's fine. It's nothing." It buzzed again almost at once. He stood. "Sorry. One minute." He took the call out to the balcony and slid the door shut behind him. I could see his outline against the rain, one hand on the railing, head slightly bowed. I couldn't hear a word. When he came back, he was smiling again, but it was the careful kind, the one you put on for guests. "Everything okay?" "Work. Always work." At eight o'clock on a Thursday night, I wasn't convinced, but I didn't press. To fill the silence, he found a pack of cards and dealt us each seven with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. We played until after midnight. I won three rounds out of four, partly because I'm good and partly because he was too polite to peek at my hand. He caught me hiding a card under my knee. I looked him dead in the eye. "That's strategy." "That's cheating." "It's cheating with confidence." He laughed properly then, head back, and the careful smile disappeared. It was a good laugh. I wanted to hear it again, which was alarming. Somewhere between rounds, I asked, "Does your family live around here?" "My mother's in another city. We talk on Sundays." "Any siblings?" "A sister. She'd like you. She's loud." "Like Bia." "Then I'm outnumbered." He shuffled the cards. "What about-" I started, then stopped. What about the person who called at ten at night? What about the photograph? "Anyone else?" His hands paused on the deck for the smallest moment. "It's late," he said gently, "and you're about to lose." He dealt the cards, and the question went down with them, face down, where I couldn't reach it. The following Friday, Bia arrived straight from work, carrying two bags of takeout and an overnight bag she hadn't warned me about. "I'm sleeping over," she announced. "Don't argue. I've had a week." "I wasn't going to argue." "You were going to think about it." We were halfway through our food when someone knocked. Bia raised an eyebrow. I got up. Daniel stood there holding a new light bulb. "Your porch light has been out since Tuesday," he said. "I kept meaning to say something, and then I kept forgetting I had a spare. Sorry, I didn't know you had company." "That's... thank you. You didn't have to." "It's two minutes." He glanced past me. "And you must be Bia." Bia appeared at my shoulder with the speed of a woman who'd heard the words "bulb" and "man" in the same sentence. "I must be," she said. "And you must be the neighbour." "Daniel." He shook her hand. "Barbara said you'd be the loud one." "What?" "I said spirited," I said weakly. "That's even worse," said Bia, delighted. He changed the bulb with the steadiness of someone who didn't need an audience, tested the switch, then crouched to check the latch on the gate as well. "It's sticking. I'll tighten it tomorrow." When Bia offered him food, he thanked her but declined. "You two have catching up to do. I've intruded enough." At the gate he turned back. "Bia, try the apple pie. If Barbara hasn't eaten it all." "There's pie?" Bia said, as he left. "There was pie," I said. "There is a very small amount of pie." She waited until his footsteps faded. "Spirited," she repeated. "He changes your bulbs." "Don't." "I haven't said anything." "You were about to." "I was about to say he seems nice. Which he does. Steady. Polite. Observant, you can tell." She grinned. "And bald. Very bald. You've told me for years that bald men aren't your type." "They aren't." "Okay," said Bia, in a voice that clearly meant sure. The night went the way nights with Bia always do: dishes in the sink, her phone charging on my bed, a terrible reality show we both mocked and could not stop watching. By one o'clock, we had stopped talking altogether. She lay on the mattress I had dragged out, while I stayed on the bed, the rain starting up again against the window. "Can I ask you something?" Bia said. "You're going to anyway." "Have you ever asked him about his family?" "I did, last week. His mum is in another city. He has a sister." I paused. "She's loud." "That's it?" "It's been a few weeks, Bia." "Okay." The mattress creaked as she turned over. "Do you think he's honest?" "Hmmm... Bia." But she was already asleep, letting out a soft snore. I turned towards the ceiling, replaying her question in my head. Did I really know Daniel well enough to trust him? I thought about the unanswered calls, the photograph turned face down, and the way he had avoided my questions. I pulled the blanket over myself and closed my eyes. For the first time, I wondered if there was more to Daniel than I had seen.