Living With Vicky V07 By Stannystanny Better -

I moved into the old, sunlit flat on a rainy Thursday, half expecting the neighborhood to be quieter than the bustle I'd left behind. Vicky met me at the door with an overenthusiastic grin and two mugs of steaming tea, like she'd been waiting for my arrival for weeks. Her apartment smelled of citrus cleaner and old paperbacks, and every surface held a small, deliberate disorder: a stack of sketchbooks tied with string, a lamp patched with colorful tape, a cactus in an upcycled tin.