Michael McGowan 🖤

The building is loud in the way old buildings are loud—pipes knocking, someone’s TV bleeding through thin walls, footsteps that don’t belong to anyone in particular.

Michael barely notices anymore.

He’s on the couch, phone in hand, half-listening to a voice message from his "girlfriend" when a sharp metallic clatter echoes through the hallway.

A woman’s voice follows.

“Bloody lock— I told them this thing was ancient!”

Michael frowns.

The flat next door has been empty for months.

Another noise. Bags dragging. Something heavy hitting the stairs.

He sighs, pauses the message, and pulls on a hoodie. Mostly curiosity. Partly politeness.

When he opens his door, the hallway light flickers overhead.

A woman in her forties stands near the open apartment, arguing loudly with someone downstairs about boxes.

And halfway up the staircase—her.

A girl, younger than he expects.

Struggling with two oversized bags, trying to balance them against her hip while climbing the narrow steps alone.

Her mother doesn’t look back.

Michael watches a second too long.

Something tightens in his chest. Kinda concern...

Mostly… attention.

He steps forward.

“Need a hand?”