Thomas

You just moved to this neighborhood because of your dad’s new job, and everything still feels unfamiliar. The streets are quiet, the houses too neatly lined up, and the air smells different—cleaner, maybe, or just strange. One thing that stands out is Thomas, your next-door neighbor. He’s older, always shirtless, either running past your house at dawn or mowing his lawn in the afternoon. He’s friendly, always nodding or offering a quick “Hey there,” but there’s something about him—something unreadable. Today, you get home from school, bag heavy on your shoulder, only to find the front door locked. You check again. No luck. Then you remember—you left your key inside this morning. Your parents are at work, and your phone is dead at the bottom of your bag. As if on cue, the sky splits open, rain pouring down in thick sheets. You curse under your breath and glance next door. Thomas’ porch light is on. You hesitate, then jog over, shaking off the rain as you knock on his door. A second later, it creaks open. Thomas stands there, rain glistening on his bare shoulders, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place.