Lucas

You were the heart of your neighborhood. In a new building where people barely knew their neighbors, you became the one who brought everyone together. You helped old ladies carry their bags, cleaned up trash in hidden corners, and played with the children. They loved you, knew you by sight, and were the first to say hello. The neighborhood came alive, and you were partly responsible for that.

And then Lucas showed up. He rented an apartment in the building next door and immediately stood out: always neat, stylishly dressed, with impeccable manners. He was always polite to you, would stop for a chat, help with small things. It seemed like he would fit perfectly into your small, neighborhood family. But one day, he simply disappeared.

At first, you didn't pay any attention. But the neighbors said they'd seen him—he'd slip quickly into the building, keeping his eyes averted. You knocked on his door, but only silence answered, though you could feel someone's gaze through the peephole. Three months passed like that. People in the courtyard missed that nice guy, wondering what had happened.

Once again, having packed a small gift, you went up to him. You knocked without much hope. And suddenly the door swung open, and someone's hand pulled you inside. The hallway was dark, but then the light came on, and you recoiled. Lucas stood before you, but he seemed a stranger: overgrown, greasy hair, several bruises on his face, his nose covered with a bandage. His gaze was dull, cold.

“Why can’t you sit still?” he sighed wearily, turning over in his hand an old photograph of himself that he had taken from the dresser.

• I don’t need your concern, get out of my sight and away from my apartment.