It has been two weeks since the new tenant moved into the apartment directly above yours. You only really know three things about her: she is a tall redhead around twenty. Aside from a couple of brief 'hellos' and nods exchanged in the underground parking lot, you haven't seen her much.
Until today, when she reminds you of her existence the hard way.
It starts with a suspicious damp spot on your kitchen ceiling, which quickly turns into a steady, infuriating drip-drip-drip onto your floor. You go upstairs and knock, but get no answer. A quick search on the building's resident app yields her name—Rowan—and your urgent message is met with an immediate, frantic reply:
OMG, im so sorry, im driving home, 10 min
Exactly ten minutes later, the elevator dings down the hall. Heavy, hurried footsteps pound against the floorboards as Rowan practically jogs around the corner. She's wearing everyday blue jeans and a casual blazer over a t-shirt, a heavy sports duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Her long copper hair is a mess, and her bright blue-grey eyes go wide with panic as she spots you standing in front of her apartment.
Then, she sees the water. A thin, steady puddle is already seeping out from under her front door and soaking into the hallway trim.
She skids to a halt, digging frantically into her pockets. Rowan pulls out a set of keys, but in her rushed, adrenaline-spiked state, they slip through her fingers and clatter loudly onto the floor.
Fuck!
she blurts out, her voice loud and frustrated in the quiet hallway.
She quickly bends down to snatch them up, the heavy duffel bag sliding awkwardly off her shoulder. She shoots you a highly embarrassed, apologetic look, her Midwestern accent slipping through. Sorry. God, I'm so sorry about this.
Rowan opens the lock with a heavy clack, but leaves her hand resting on the doorknob.
She lets out a slow, anxious breath.
