THE BOY NEXT DOOR

If moving into this apartment was supposed to be my fresh start, then the universe clearly had a sense of humor. The box in my hands was heavier than my future. My arms trembled, my skin sticky with sweat, and I was two seconds away from collapsing on the staircase. “Need help?” The voice came from behind me—low, teasing, and dangerously close. I turned too fast, nearly dropping the box on my foot. And there he was. Not exactly what I expected. No shaggy hair, no perfectly styled fade, no sculpted beard. Just a buzz-cut head, bare jawline, lean frame, and dark eyes that watched me with an unreadable glint. His white T-shirt hung casually, revealing sharp angles of a slim build that was neither bulky nor fragile—just… balanced. The kind of body that could disappear in a crowd, except something about him wouldn’t let you ignore him. Trouble in human form. “No, thanks. I’m fine,” I lied, wobbling like a baby giraffe learning to walk. “Fine?” His brow arched, the faintest curve of his mouth betraying amusement. “If your definition of fine is almost dying under cardboard, then yeah, you’re perfect.” Before I could argue, he plucked the box from my hands like it weighed nothing. My pride stung worse than my aching arms. “Hey—I had it,” I protested, trailing after him up the stairs. “Sure you did.” His voice was lazy, but it carried something sharper underneath, like every word was deliberate. “Which floor?” “Third,” I muttered. “Great. That’s mine too.” Of course it was. The boy next door. He set the box down outside my door and dusted his palms against his jeans, as though he’d just conquered Everest. His mouth curved again, but this time it wasn’t a smile—it was the kind of smirk that knew it had unsettled me. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” “Thanks.” My fingers fumbled with the keys, desperate to escape the weight of his gaze. He was the exact opposite of what I needed—quiet, brooding, unreadable. A dark energy clung to him like an aura, and I didn’t know if it warned me away or dared me closer. But he didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching me struggle with the lock like I was entertainment. “You move here alone?” His tone was casual, but his eyes sharpened, studying me. “Yes.” “No boyfriend to help carry your boxes?” I stiffened. “No.” “Good.” My head snapped up. “Excuse me?” The corner of his mouth ticked again, something between a smirk and a secret. “I mean… good for me. More chances to play the hero next time you almost kill yourself with furniture.” Arrogant. Annoying. Infuriating. And worst of all… he was right. Finally, the lock clicked. I pushed the door open and forced my voice into something firm. “Thanks for the help. I’ll take it from here.” He gave a slow mock salute, his dark eyes glinting. “Anytime, neighbor.” Then he disappeared into the apartment right beside mine, leaving me standing at my own threshold with a heart that beat far too fast for someone I didn’t even know. Great. Just great. My new beginning came with dim eyes, sharp edges, and a smirk I didn’t want to think about. I leaned against my door once it shut behind me and whispered the first rule of survival in this new chapter of my life: Don’t fall for the boy next door. But even as I said it, I felt the crack forming in my resolve. ⸻ The apartment smelled faintly of fresh paint and dust, a blank slate waiting to become mine. The walls were bare, the floor scattered with boxes labeled kitchen, books, fragile, and one that simply read Sara’s mess. I dropped my keys onto the tiny counter and looked around. This place was supposed to be my reset button. A chance to breathe. To heal. To start over. But standing in the silence, I felt the weight of everything I’d left behind pressing against me. My old apartment had been full of memories I couldn’t scrub out—late-night arguments, mornings thick with silence, the ghost of a love that had unraveled too quickly. Packing up had felt like tearing pages from a book I hadn’t finished reading. But staying had been worse, like living inside a chapter that refused to end. So here I was. Third floor. New key. New walls. New chance. And, apparently, new distraction. I sighed and shoved open the nearest box, pulling out mugs wrapped in newspaper. My hands moved mechanically, but my mind betrayed me—replaying every detail of the stranger’s face. The clean-shaven jaw. The slim frame. The way he carried the box like it weighed nothing. The quiet intensity in his voice. I groaned. “Rule number one, Sara. Don’t.” But my heart hadn’t gotten the memo. ⸻ It was past sunset by the time I stacked the last empty box against the wall. The apartment still looked unfinished, but at least my bed was assembled, sheets stretched across it, promising rest. I sank onto the edge, tucking my knees up. My body ached, but exhaustion didn’t dull my thoughts. Him. I didn’t even know his name, but my pulse hadn’t settled since that encounter. He wasn’t even my type. Normally, I was drawn to easy smiles, tall frames, maybe a little stubble or a beard. The kind of man who looked like he belonged in sunlight. But this one—he was all shadows. Sharp lines. Eyes too dark to read. And still, something in me leaned toward him, the way a moth leans toward flame even though it knows the ending. I buried my face in my hands, muttering under my breath. “Not again, Sara. You didn’t move here to repeat old mistakes.” Because I had a history of those. Falling too fast. Trusting too easily. Believing people were who I wanted them to be instead of who they were. My last relationship had been the cruelest reminder of that—how someone could promise you forever, then leave you bleeding with the pieces. So, no. I wasn’t here for him. I was here for me. At least, that was the plan. And just as I steadied myself with that thought, there was a knock. Three sharp taps. I froze. Of course it couldn’t be anyone else.