More Than Just Words

spices and sizzling food wafts through the air, emanating from one of the neighboring units. Instantly, memories of my mother's flavorful cooking flood my mind, evoking a mix of lo

I groan in frustration. Climbing the narrow stairs to my floor, I huff to myself, caught up in thoughts of how Richard always seems to bring chaos i

phone. Glancing down, I see a message from my friend Anne. "Sorry a

accompanied by the murmur of my neighbors' voices. As I approach my door, I hear one of my neighbors

it last week. The food was delicious, but

wonder if the business is destined to fail unless, of course, my neighbor is exaggerating about the prices. Curiosity mixes with skepticism. The thought of tryi

nside my tiny flat, mismatched wooden furniture fills the L-shaped bedroom. The carpeted floor and walls painted with a wallpaper border complete the scene, illuminated by wall and floor lamps that give the room an almost extr

er sandwich and shove it into the microwave, the whirring machine filling the small kitchen with its mechanical nois

wonder why he was at the coffee shop. I mean, I always thought of him as a photographer, but seeing his videography gear got me curious

d the strong smell of chemicals hit my nose. It was a weird mix of discomfort and familiarity. I was so into my work when suddenly, there was a knock on the door. I w

mixed with a hint of cologne surrounded me. I couldn't resist taking a deep breath. Our eyes met, and there was this electric conn

oked at the pictures on the wall then turned

d vulnerability. "Uhm, yeah I’m Loretta. Thanks," I

ther without saying a word. In that moment, I knew that our shared love for photography will continu

n the past and even now, Richard still has this crazy hold on me. I have this mix of longing and anger in m

my sandwich, enjoying the warmth of the toasted bread and gooey cheese.

s soon as it appears. I see pictures of him with two kids–boy and girl– who look a lot like him.

with each picture on his feed and I wonder what it would feel like being part of his

xciting adventures as he zi

trangers praise him. Only if they know how horrible he was when we were younger. My heart is still broken, and time has not healed it completely. The memories of that pain come back, and as if a

unding in my ears. I see the stout, bald-headed figure of my landlord, Mr Lorenzo, standing outside m

ing me. Scrambling to grab it and silence the notification, I realize it

walls of the apartment building, Mr Lorenzo exclaims, "I

g the door. Mr Lorenzo's face contorts into a deep frown, and I notice his large t

ed to pay two weeks ago," he spit

tearfully, trying to find the words. "I los

vident in his rising voice. "I don't care if you los

ay the rent. The money I have left is only for groceries. Being yelled at is especially frustrati

Helpless and alone, I don't know how I'll make it through the month. Wiping a

rly click on it. "I found this link from a friend at work. It's a social media manager position, but it's not remote. You should try it. My friend could put in a good word for you, so send your CV

"We're coming over tonight," Anne writes. Susan chimes in with love emojis, and it feels like something heavy

itter user I don't know pops up. “@Velvety and its workers are equally gu

e be so cruel? Determined to shake off the negativity, I remind myself that it's just an

h renewed hope and determination, I click on the link Anne sent me, my pulse quickening with antici