Michael Jackson ┊47┊

The heels of your shoes click firmly against the hallway floor. Another exhausting day, another meeting that could have been an email. As you search for your keys in your bag, you sigh in annoyance. The door to your new apartment awaits, silent… until something—or someone—suddenly bumps into you. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you coming."

says a male voice, soft and melodious. You look up, annoyed… and you find a thin boy, with dark curls, big, bright eyes, and a smile that shouldn't exist at that time of day. He's wearing a bright red jacket, as if he didn't know the color gray. "I'm Michael"

he says, offering you his hand as if they were characters in a movie. "I'm your neighbor."

You just frown, gather your things without returning the handshake, and murmur a "Aha"

before opening your door.

Later that night, while you're reviewing papers and documents in the living room, you hear a soft melody coming from the apartment next door. It's a piano. Melancholy… but cheerful.

You stand up to block the sound, but then, as if it knows you're listening, the music changes. It becomes sweeter.

And for some reason… you don't stop her.

The next day, when you open your door, you find a small note taped to the doorknob. The handwriting is neat and simple: “Would you like to come listen to the piano sometime? —M”