The Noisy Neighbour

The first moan stopped her mid-highlight.

Yellow ink streaked across the diagram of a dissected heart, smearing arteries and veins as the sound slipped through the wall — soft, breathy, unmistakably female.

Her pulse skipped.

Then came another moan, higher this time. Longer.

She dropped the highlighter and flopped onto her back, glaring at the wall closest to her.

Focus, she told herself. Valves. Arteries. Pulmonary circulation.

But her biology textbook sat open and abandoned on her pillow, its pages blurred and useless as another muffled noise seeped through the thin walls.

It wasn’t the same voice as yesterday.

Kinga pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Of course it’s not the same voice.

Her neighbour — what was his name? Luca? Leo? — had moved in four months ago, and it didn’t take long to figure out his routine.

Or lack of one.

Kinga had noticed him. How could she not? He worked out shirtless in the courtyard in the summer months, all lean muscle and sweat-slicked skin, earbuds in while he pretended not to notice the women — and some of the men — who lingered to watch.

Then there was the way he carried himself in the hallways, effortless confidence and a smirk that always seemed to suggest he knew exactly what you were thinking.

And now this. This endless string of moans and creaks at three in the afternoon on a Saturday.

Did the man even work? Or was this his job — seducing half of Gdańsk one afternoon at a time?

Another long, drawn-out moan sent a shiver down her spine. Kinga pressed her palm to the wall before she even realized what she was doing, fingertips brushing the painted plaster like it might let her feel the vibrations through the surface.

Focus. Focus.

She bit down hard on her lip, but it didn’t stop the images flooding her brain — of what he might look like right now, his back muscles flexing, his jaw tight.

Her hand slid down her stomach, dipping just under the waistband of her sweatpants.

God, it had been months — seven, to be exact, but who was counting?

Winter break had been a fluke. Too much vodka and a forgettable hookup who had been more focused on his own pleasure than hers.

Not like the sounds coming through the wall now. No, whoever was in there with him was definitely having a better time than Kinga had all year.

Her fingers dipped lower. Just enough for the heat in her belly to spike. She exhaled, slow and shaky. Maybe she could just—

“Kinga! Cabbage rolls are ready!”

Her mother’s voice cracked through the apartment like a whip.

“Cholera (damn),” Kinga hissed, jerking her hand out of her pants like she’d been burned.

She sat up, the sudden movement making her textbook slide off the bed and land with a thump on the floor.

Right. Dinner was always early on weekends. With her mother’s overly seasoned cabbage rolls and a lecture about how medical school wasn’t going to accept a daughter who couldn’t focus for more than five minutes.

Kinga stood, trying to shake off the heat clinging to her skin. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye — flushed cheeks, tousled light brown hair, the hungry look in her own eyes.

She grabbed a hair tie and pulled her hair back into a bun, willing herself to look more… studious.

“Coming!” she called, stepping out of her bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

She swore the sounds of moans followed her all the way down the hall.

The savoury smell of tomato sauce and ground pork should’ve been comforting, but all she could focus on was how the moans next door had been replaced by laughter — low, masculine, and smug.

Her mother, of course, was blissfully unaware. Or maybe not.

“Registration for the Matura exam is in two weeks,” her Mama said, as casually as someone talking about the weather. She scooped another helping of potatoes onto Kinga’s plate without waiting for permission. “It’ll be here before you know it.”

“Mama, I—” Kinga clamped her mouth shut before the protest could slip out.

What was she even going to say? That she’d been studying all day? That she hadn’t been distracted by the walls that might as well have been made of paper?

So instead she finished off with “— think you should go see Ciocia (Aunt) Halina.”

Her mother looked up sharply, fork frozen halfway to her mouth. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you miss her,” Kinga said carefully. “And I know she misses you. You were on the phone with her earlier — I heard you laughing.” She hesitated, then added, “You’ve been lonely since...”

She didn't need to finish her sentence.

Her mom’s face didn’t change much, but Kinga saw it — the slight tightening of her mouth, the way her hand drifted to the gold ring she still wore, twisting it once before setting her fork down.

“I’m fine,” she said, but there was no weight behind it.

“I know you are.” Kinga reached across the table, covering her Mama's hand with her own. “But you don’t have to be here all the time, worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

Her mom opened her mouth to protest, but Kinga cut her off with a pointed look.

“You always make enough cabbage rolls to feed a small army. I’ll survive a day or two.”

Her mother huffed, but there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she quickly sent a text to Halina.

“You’ll survive, huh? And who’s going to remind you to rest your eyes when you’ve been staring at that book for hours?”

“My phone,” Kinga said, deadpan. “There’s this thing called an alarm. Revolutionary technology, really.”

Her mom waved her hand, brushing the joke aside. “But I’d rather leave tonight,” she said, glancing at the clock. “The trains are slower on Sunday.”

Kinga blinked. “Tonight?”

“It’s not that far,” her mom said. “I’ll stay with her for two nights, help her with the last of this year’s gardening. And I’ll be back Monday.”

“I’ll help you pack.”

“Nonsense.” Her mother stood, already gathering the empty plates. “You go back to studying. That’s more important.”

Kinga opened her mouth to argue but stopped. It was easier this way. Her mom needed this — time away, time to be something other than a worried mother or a grieving widow.

And Kinga needed the space too, even if it meant being left alone with thin walls and loud neighbours.

“Okay,” she said, pushing back from the table. “But if I don’t respond to your text right away, it’s because I’m studying. So don’t panic.”

Her mom laughed. “Fair.”

As Kinga gathered her books and retreated to her room, she couldn’t help but glance at the wall one more time.

Quiet now. For how long, though?

A half hour later, Kinga kissed her mom goodbye at the door, the scent of perfume and cabbage rolls lingering faintly in the air.

“Call me tomorrow afternoon,” her mom said, adjusting the strap of her overnight bag. “I want to know you’re eating properly — and that you didn’t drown while swimming.”

“I will,” Kinga promised, pulling her into a quick hug.

Her mom lingered for a moment, fussing with the zipper of her bag before adding, “Oh, and I can’t take out the recycling, it’s the opposite direction. Can you do it? If not, I’ll take it out Monday.”

Kinga shook her head, already reaching for the recycling bag by the door. “I’ll do it. I need the fresh air anyway.”

Her Mama hesitated, her eyes flickering — just briefly — down to Kinga’s leg. But she didn’t say anything. She just squeezed Kinga’s arm and smiled. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Kinga forced a smile back. “I won’t.”

I never do.

Luckily, there were only a few bottles and empty jars. And luckily, she only lived on the third floor.

Still, by the time she made it down the stairs, her breath was uneven, her thigh aching in a way that made her grit her teeth.

There was a constant pull, a stiffness that reminded her she’d never be as steady as she used to be.

She emptied the recycling into the bin behind the building, then turned back toward the stairs — only to freeze when she spotted him.

Luca. Or Leo.

She couldn’t quite remember, and she wasn’t about to ask.

He was sitting on the bench in the courtyard, one leg stretched out, the other bent casually as he leaned back and lit a cigarette.

His hair was slightly damp, curling at the ends, and his shirt clung just enough to suggest he hadn’t bothered getting fully dressed after… whatever that was earlier.

Kinga’s eyes darted to the cigarette in his fingers.

Was that a post-sex thing?

Or was he stressed out about something?

She adjusted her grip on the empty recycling bag and started toward the stairs, but his eyes flicked up — and lingered.

Just for a second. Long enough to make her feel like he’d noticed. Noticed her leg. The limp.

“Good afternoon,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s almost evening,” Kinga shot back without thinking.

“Good evening, then.” He exhaled a slow plume of smoke, his mouth curling at the edges.

“You really shouldn’t smoke,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Maybe it was the ache in her leg, or the dull frustration buzzing in her chest, but the judgment came sharp.

His lips twitched, amused. “You’re probably right.” He paused, tilting his head. “Are you a doctor or something?”

“Trying to become one,” Kinga replied. She adjusted her bag and turned toward the stairs. “Good night, sir.”

“Sir?” He leaned back a little, his broad shoulders stretching out in a way that seemed entirely deliberate.

She hated that she noticed. He had no right being that muscular.

“You’re older than me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not your Dziadek (Grandpa), though. Certainly not built like one, either.”

Kinga paused on the first step, glaring down at him. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

His grin widened. “And you’re more interesting than I thought you were.”

Kinga rolled her eyes and started back up the stairs, determined not to look back. Her leg ached with every step, but she didn’t stop.

She could feel his gaze following her the whole way up.

By the time Kinga got back to the apartment, she guzzled half a bottle of water, followed by a painkiller, and then drained the rest of the bottle.

The dull ache in her leg hadn’t flared too badly, but she knew better than to let it linger.

And yet, even as the pain ebbed, she still couldn’t get him out of her head.

She tried to focus, flipping through pages of arteries and veins, but after ten minutes of pretending to study, her mind betrayed her.

It wandered — back to the courtyard, back to his broad shoulders, the curl of smoke leaving his lips, the way his eyes had lingered.

Her hand drifted absently down her stomach. She needed a release. Badly. And at least now, if she reached down for a little distraction, her mama wouldn’t be there to—

Knock, knock, knock.

Kinga’s head jerked up. The sound came from next door.

“Leo! Are you there?”

That was his name.

The voice who spoke it was male, rough, and definitely older. Kinga froze, curiosity flaring before she could stop it.

She couldn’t help herself.

She crept to the door and pressed her eye to the peephole.

The man standing outside Leo’s apartment looked about fifty. His posture was awful — shoulders hunched forward, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His glasses were sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Leo opened the door a moment later, leaning casually against the frame, and Kinga caught the faintest glimpse of his smirk.

“Sorry to come by unannounced, but I remember you saying Saturday’s around six were usually open,” the man said, almost apologetically.

“Mmm, Staszek, it’s been a while,” Leo said. His tone was smooth, like honey dripping too slowly. “Glad you came by again.”

Kinga stiffened. Again?

She didn’t know what bothered her more — the fact that he clearly had no preferences…

Or the traitorous thought that followed.

Maybe that means he’d find me attractive.

The idea hit her so quickly that it almost made her blush. She straightened, stepping back from the door as though it had personally wounded her.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Kinga huffed, trying to shove the ridiculous thought aside. She had exams to focus on. She didn’t have time to be thinking about Leo — or what he might be doing behind that door.

But as she sat back down at her desk, cracking open her textbook again, she couldn’t stop her ears from straining toward the wall.

Waiting. Listening. Wondering.