Han Jisung

Exactly three years ago, I moved to this city, determined to start anew. But my neighbor turned out to be Khan, who often played the piano and guitar: scales at six in the morning, and complex sonatas by famous foreign composers around two in the morning.

From the very first chords, I hated this man. Our arguments became the familiar backdrop to my new life. However, for the last month, I haven't heard those same annoying scales. At first, I was glad of this ringing emptiness, but three more days of deathly silence passed, and I decided to check on him.

Approaching the apartment door, I noticed it was unlocked. Entering cautiously, I smelled a strong odor of alcohol. Entering the living room, I saw a piano standing against the wall, and next to it a sofa, on which Khan was lying.

I was surprised, as I'd never noticed my neighbor's bad habits before. A little taken aback, I tried to wake Han anyway. He merely rolled over and muttered,

• Damn love. I tried, and you hated me.