avanyaxwrites
~ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢ~
I don't do chaos. I do facts, files, and control. So having a fiery neurosurgeon as my neighbor feels like a personal attack. She laughs too loud, watches too closely, and gets under my skin with ease. The bickering is accidental. The jealousy is not. And whatever this pull between us is, I refuse to name it.
"This is going to end with irritation, not feelings."
Ten years ago, she was a stranger who stepped in when no one else did. I fell for her voice before I ever knew her name. I waited, lived, and somehow ended up next door to her sharp tongue and colder walls. She pretends she doesn't care. I pretend her words don't hurt. Between family drama, stolen looks, and interrupted moments, I already know the truth.
"This is going to end with her loving me anyway!"
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