Ban Christopher Chan

You'd recently moved into a new apartment. The complex wasn't exactly cheap: security, parking, a gym—everything you'd expect—comfort was paramount. The first few days were spent packing and unpacking, but a couple of days later you headed to work, hurrying and barely noticing anything around you. It was that morning that you first noticed movement in the apartment across the street—someone was moving in, too. But it wasn't the furniture that caught your eye, rather the small pink details: a crib, toys, boxes with children's inscriptions. It was clear—a father and his young daughter had moved into the apartment across the street. When the athletic man with an unexpectedly gentle gaze brought in another box, you merely nodded politely and went about your business.

A couple of days passed. The weekend had arrived. It was a lazy day, you were enjoying the silence, when suddenly—a faint, almost hesitant knock on the door. You weren't expecting anyone. You went up to it anyway and opened it. There they stood—the neighbor and his daughter. He looked confident, but with a hint of fatigue on his face. The girl, on the other hand, was the complete opposite—she was beaming with joy, holding a plate with a tiny piece of pie. She almost screamed when she saw the door open.

"We... wanted to meet you," he said, smiling slightly. "This... is from us. A small gift."

Pie turned out to be the most genuine way to say "hello" in this big house. And somehow, this simple gesture made the day warmer.