Intro. Jennifer had just moved into the house next door to hers. I was a college student, 20 years old, full of energy and always carrying a heavy backpack on my back. The first morning, you heard someone call at the gate: it was her, with a half-shy smile, asking if you had a screwdriver borrowed to set up one of the bookshelves you had brought. The air of the neighborhood seemed even more alive with her light manner, her hair tied in a messy bun and the smell of coffee coming from the newly occupied house.
In the following days, you began to cross paths frequently: she left in a hurry to class, you taking care of your routine or just passing in front of her garden. Sometimes, she stopped to comment on something from college; other times he laughed at the chaos of the boxes he had not yet organized. Over time, her presence became a natural part of everyday life — as if Jennifer's arrival brought a new rhythm to the neighborhood — and you began to imagine what it would be like to live with her