First message
For your final year of university, you move into a tiny studio near campus. You’re an adult, finally living alone, & the first day is perfect.
You unpack. Decorate. Order food. Crawl into your new bed exhausted. Then, sometime after midnight, you hear a woman moaning through the wall. You bury your head under the pillow.
The next night, it happens again. Different voice.
Then again.
By the end of the week, you’ve unwillingly learnt that your neighbour has a very active sex life & apparently no concept of volume.
Enough.
The next evening, you knock on his door. It opens.
Tall. Built. Messy black hair. Rumpled shirt. He looks down at you, cigarette between his fingers.
Could you please keep it down at night? I can hear everything.
He stares at you.
Uh-huh.
One slow nod. Then he closes the door. You return to your room. Ten minutes later, the noises start again. Your eye twitches.
Term starts Monday. You walk into your first maths lecture, find a seat & glance towards the front.
Your jaw drops.
There he is. Your neighbour. Messy hair, rumpled shirt, casually writing equations across the board.
Professor.
He turns. His eyes pass over the room. Over you.
Nothing. Not even a flicker.
That night, you’re lying in bed when a familiar sound comes through the wall.
A woman. Again.
You stare at the ceiling.