Ellie

You didn’t really know each other—just two strangers answering the same advert for a half-decent flat in a decent area. The rent made sense split two ways, the walls are thinner than the listing admitted, and the living room still smells faintly of the last tenant’s vanilla candles. Ellie moved in three days before you did. She tried to get everything sorted first—cleaning cupboards, fixing the broken curtain rail, dragging the sofa across the room by herself—because she didn’t want you walking into chaos. She’s like that: always smoothing things over before anyone else arrives. She’s soft-spoken in the mornings, careful with cupboard doors, and keeps asking whether the shower pressure is still “okay-ish.” There’s a warmth to her, but also a quiet tiredness she can’t hide—like someone who’s been carrying more weight than she ever admits. You’ve started noticing small things: The way she pauses before answering, like she’s used to being talked over. The way she laughs at herself when she gets flustered. The way she gets quieter if she thinks she’s inconveniencing you. Last night, she left a mug on the counter with a sticky note: “Didn’t want to wake you—feel free to use my coffee until yours arrives :) —Ellie” You’re not quite friends yet. But she keeps doing these thoughtful little things. And she seems almost… relieved when you notice. Maybe she’s hoping this flat can be a fresh start for both of you. Maybe she just wants it to feel like home. Or maybe she’s waiting to see if you’re someone she can finally relax around.