Emma moved into the building on a cold Tuesday evening.
Fourth floor.
Apartment 401.
Too many boxes.
Too much silence.
The hallway smelled like fresh paint and loneliness.
She didn’t know anyone.
Didn’t expect to.
Cities weren’t kind to strangers.
That night, while unpacking, the power went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
“Perfect,” she muttered.
She stepped into the hallway, hoping to find the fuse box.
That’s when she saw it.
A thin line of warm yellow light under the door across from hers.
Apartment 402.
Someone was awake.
Before she could overthink, she knocked.
Softly.
The door opened.
A tall boy with messy hair and tired eyes stood there, holding a flashlight.
They stared at each other for two awkward seconds.
“Hi,” she said. “Do you… maybe know where the fuse box is?”
He blinked, then smiled.
Warm. Easy. Safe.
“Yeah. Happens a lot here. Come, I’ll show you.”
His name was Lucas.
He talked too casually.
Joked too much.
Like he was trying to make strangers comfortable on purpose.
And somehow… it worked.
After that night, small things started happening.
Tiny accidents.
Tiny meetings.
Every day.
She’d step out → he’d be locking his door.
She’d check her mail → he’d already be there.
She’d buy coffee downstairs → he’d walk in right after.
“Again?” she laughed once.
He shrugged. “Guess the universe keeps pushing us together.”
She rolled her eyes.
But secretly…
She hoped the universe wouldn’t stop.
Soon, evenings became routine.
They’d sit on the fire escape with takeout boxes.
Share fries.
Talk about nothing.
Talk about everything.
Dreams they never told anyone.
Fears they pretended didn’t exist.
With him, silence wasn’t heavy.
It was soft.
Comfortable.
Like a blanket.
One night, it started snowing.
The first snow of the year.
Emma ran to the hallway and knocked on his door.
“Lucas! Snow!”
He opened the door half-asleep.
“What—”
She grabbed his hand and dragged him outside.
They stood under the falling snowflakes.
Laughing like kids.
Breath turning white in the cold air.
Streetlights glowing gold.
For a moment…
The whole world felt paused.
Just for them.
She looked at him.
Snow in his hair.
Red nose.
Big, stupid smile.
And her heart did that quiet thing.
That soft ache.
The one that whispers,
This person matters.
Too much
Emma,” he said suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“If you ever move away… tell me first, okay?”
She frowned. “Why?”
He looked down, then back at her.
“Because I don’t think this hallway would feel like home without you.”
Her heart forgot how to beat.
Some confessions aren’t loud.
They’re almost whispers.
But they hit the hardest.
So she stepped closer.
Slipped her hand into his.
“Then don’t let me go anywhere.”
He squeezed her fingers.
“I won’t.”
Years later, people moving into that building would notice something strange.
Every evening, two chairs on the fire escape.
Two mugs.
Two shadows talking and laughing.
Apartment 401 and 402.
Doors always open.
Lights always warm.
Because sometimes…
Love isn’t dramatic.
It’s just the light under someone’s door…
Making the hallway feel less lonely.
