Six months ago, Galina’s elderly neighbour passed away. Her husband was left alone. He grew sad, hunched over, as if the weight of grief was pressing him into the ground. He barely left the house. The neighbours pitied him—some brought him soup, others ran errands for him.
He was a bit deaf and forgetful. He’d sit by the telly, turn the volume up full blast, and forget the kettle on the stove. Once, he nearly started a fire and could’ve choked on the smoke. After that, Galina kept a spare key to his flat.
Then his son came and took him away, putting the flat up for sale. The neighbours were relieved—no one wanted the old man to die alone when he had family.
Three weeks later, the flat had a new owner. The whole building knew because workmen arrived to start renovations. Day after day, they hauled out rubbish, ancient plumbing, and old furniture. Then came the hammering, drilling, and endless noise. Who could stand it? Galina lived right next door.
She dreaded coming home from work. The racket greeted her on the stairs. She endured it as long as she could before knocking on the neighbour’s door. A bloke covered in paint and dust answered.
“You the owner? How much longer will this noise go on? I can’t take it anymore—my head’s splitting,” she snapped.
“Sorry, love, but I’ve been told to wrap this up quick. Two more days of noise, then it’s just finishing touches—quieter stuff.”
“Two days?” Galina was too stunned to reply.
The drill roared to life behind the closed door. She stepped outside where the noise faded.
“Neighbour getting to you?” asked one of the women lounging by the entrance.
“Seen him?” Galina shot back.
“Oh yeah,” they chimed in. “Proper handsome, dressed smart, smells nice. Polite too—always says hello.”
“Lovely new neighbour we’ve got,” cackled toothless Polly.
The others laughed, flashing their gold crowns and dentures.
“Rather he played the trumpet,” Galina muttered.
“You spoken to him?”
“Did. No use—workmen don’t care.”
“Galina, love, you ought to get a good look at him. Top bloke. How long you been on your own? You’re still young—could have kids. And he’s loaded—drives a fancy car.”
“I’m off to the shops,” Galina said, quickening her step to escape their chatter.
Her husband had died two years after they married. No time for kids. Thirteen years alone.
“Probably visits when I’m at work. No point complaining—the place needed work. Old couple let it go to ruin. Just wait till he moves in—I’ll give him a taste of his own medicine,” she thought, sidestepping a puddle.
Two days later, she finally met him. Exhausted from work, all she wanted was to collapse into bed. As she reached the door, it swung open.
A younger man stood there, flashing a perfect smile. She knew instantly—this was the new owner. His grin struck her as smug, his gaze arrogant.
“Thanks,” she said curtly, brushing past.
The door clicked shut. Footsteps echoed behind her in the dim hallway. Her pulse quickened. Fighting fear, she spun around. The neighbour was there.
“Go ahead. Hate people breathing down my neck,” she snapped, masking her unease.
He passed her, heading upstairs. The building was old, central, with spacious flats—prime property.
On the fourth floor, he waited by his door.
“So, you’re my neighbour? Workers said you came by, had a go at them.”
“Didn’t ‘have a go’—asked them to keep it down. Whole building’s suffering.” She rummaged for her keys.
“My bad. Nearly done, promise.”
She shot him a look, slammed her door hard enough to flake plaster from the ceiling.
From then on, she slammed it at every chance—petty revenge, picturing his smile wiped away.
A week later, furniture arrived. Movers blocked the stairs hauling up a sofa. Galina squeezed past, glimpsing honey-coloured floors, fresh walls—
“Fancy a look?” He appeared in the doorway. She flushed, caught peeking, scurried inside—forgot to slam the door. Damn!
Her birthday fell on a weekend. Monday she’d treat coworkers, but tonight it was just her and mate Masha.
Masha arrived late, filling the flat with noise and laughter. They sat to eat.
“Blast, forgot wine. Can’t open bubbly to save my life,” Galina groaned.
“Any blokes next door?” Masha winked.
“Wall neighbour, but—”
Masha was already banging on his door.
Two minutes later, she returned with him in tow—jeans, rolled-sleeve shirt, no suit.
He greeted them, popped the cork. Masha behind him mimed swooning, thumbs up, clutching her heart. No translator needed—she was smitten.
“Gal’s birthday! Cooked up a feast, no one to share it,” Masha announced.
Galina shot her a look: *Since when’s it your party?* But he joined, poured champagne, raised his glass:
“To our lovely host—and neighbour!”
Galina nearly choked. She’d dressed up—curled hair, makeup—looked her best.
Masha fawned over him, piling his plate, as if *she* were hostess. Galina burned with shame—her mate was throwing herself at him. Then Masha dragged him to dance, pressing close, batting lashes.
Galina fled to the kitchen, fighting tears. *He’s mine, not hers!*
Five minutes later, Masha burst in, fanning herself.
“Had your fun?” Galina hissed.
“Gal, he’s *dreamy*! Dances like a god. You said you weren’t keen—mind if I have a crack? No hard feelings?” She winked.
“Take him,” Galina muttered, blinking back tears.
“Imagine—we’d be neighbours once we’re married!” Masha gushed.
“He proposed already?”
“Not yet, but it’s coming. Don’t worry—he’s got mates. We’ll find you one too.”
“He’s got a young blonde—not like us forty-somethings,” Galina lied.
“Liar!” Masha squeaked.
“Swear. Hollywood’s got nothing on her.”
Masha’s mascaraed lashes fluttered. Crushed.
Then he appeared.
“Need to dash. Happy birthday again. Lovely meeting you.” He smiled at Galina.
Masha pounced.
“Which way you headed? Any chance of a lift? Bit tipsy—legs won’t hold me.” Chest heaving for effect.
“Sure, just a sec.” He glanced at Galina.
Once they’d gone, she wept. *Some mate. Stole him off me. He really is something…*
She cleared the table, washed up, shed her dress, stepped under the shower. Wrapped in a towel, hair damp, the doorbell rang.
Thinking Masha had returned remorseful, she yanked it open—
He stood there, holding a massive bouquet of roses.
“Forgot your gift earlier. Happy birthday.”
The scent engulfed her. She’d forgotten her state—robe, towel-turban.
“Fancy tea and cake?” He made no move to leave.
Trapped, she invited him in. The kettle’s reflection showed her—she ripped off the towel, curls tumbling loose.
Over tea, he shared his story—divorced, lived in Scotland awhile, missed the city. Bought this flat—like his childhood home. His sister lived there now.
“Who’s the blonde?” Galina asked.
“My daughter. Ex remarried, moved away. She’s at uni—visits often.”
“Masha fancied you. She’s pretty, yeah?” Why’d she say that?
“Suppose. Didn’t notice. Reminds me of my ex.” He frowned, eyed Galina—goosebumps raced down her arms, stomach fluttering.
That night, she lay awake. *Don’t miss your chance, Galina,* her mum’s voice echoed.
“Won’t,” she whispered, drifting off.
Morning brought rain. She turned back for an umbrella—he emerged.
“Wait here—I’ll fetch the car, drop you at work.”
The downpour worsened. At a red light, raindrops blurred the world—like they were alone on an island. Could’ve stayed forever.
Then the wipers flicked on, shattering the moment. Why’d she ask if they worked?
At the office, Masha pestered her:
“Ask about me?”
“Said you remind him of his ex,” Galina lied, vengeful.
Next day, he invited her to the theatre.
“Ten minutes. Waiting in the car.”
She threw on a new dress, loose curlsThe following spring, as cherry blossoms drifted past their shared window, Galina rocked their newborn son in the very flat where love had quietly stolen its way into her heart.
