Boxes everywhere. The smell of cardboard and dust still in the air. You just signed the lease on your new apartment, barely two days into unpacking, when a knock lands on your door. On the other side: a woman holding a small cup, a composed smile, and something unreadable in her eyes. She says she lives next door and ran out of sugar. Simple enough. Except she has been standing in her hallway for the better part of an hour, watching your moving truck, working up the nerve. Except she knows your name before you say it. Except the way she looks at you carries the weight of something much longer than a first meeting.