"Hi", Giselle whispered and suddenly remembered how the neighbour had lectured her, rightfully so, and then left. She pressed her lips together, averted her gaze and took a step. The urge to speed past the woman pulled at her. "You're moving out?", Rachel asked her, voice kind and face without a hint of the grudge from last time. "I am. I'm selling the place", she explained and looked back up at the redhead. As the woman stood in front of a window, the daylight played a trick of lights and shadows on her, making it hard to recognise features and moods. It reminded her of silhouette pictures. Slowly she walked up and leaned against the wall so the two could have a small conversation on equal footing. Standing below someone down the stairs felt wrong. It gave the person up top an imperious flair.

"If I remember the market right, you should already have buyers. Am I right?", Rachel wondered with interest. Of course she would be interested, Giselle thought. After all the new buyers most likely became neighbours. Who wanted to have neighbours that ran a secret nightclub and produced loud techno music. A shiver went down her spine with the memory. Then she put on a weak smile and said, "Celestine is buying the place. Don't ask me...". The smile became apologetic and helpless. The redhead rolled her eyes and smirked, "Ian played that one well, didn't he?". Come to think of it, he may have. Or maybe not since Celestine wasn't cheap about the price. At least that was her assessment, and Carry had agreed. Unless it turned out, Carry was somehow involved with Celestine and Ian. A conspiracy theory formed in her head, but fortunately got interrupted when Rachel reached for her hand, "Are you okay?". "Don't worry, I just wondered if Carry, my real estate agent, somehow was in bed with Celestine and Ian", Giselle said and chuckled. An attempt to shrug off the sour feeling in her stomach. It worked better than she expected. Maybe the conspiracy theory wasn't a good one. She added in a more serious manner, "Celestine isn't cheap about the place. Somehow I am not so sure this was Ian's plan. But who am I to judge. All I'm doing is my best to get through this".

The woman nodded sincerely. Then she smiled, "You know, about last time...", but the brunette interrupted her, voice forceful and determined, "You were right. Maybe a little bit in over your head, but you were… are right. I can't blame you and I don't have hard feelings". A warmth spread between the two of them as they smiled and considered each other. Giselle didn't like unfinished business. This lingering tension, or even anger, had the smell of unfinished all over it. Since she'd be moving out, why not forgive and move on? Not like she's gonna meet the two apartment dwellers all too often in the future. "Ah, thanks Giselle. Hindsight must surely be the most useless function of our brains", Rachel offered with a laugh. "Why? Because it tortures our brains over the unalterable past?", the brunette mused, remembering that saying from somewhere. The other woman nodded back and an echo of laughter filled the stairwell. "Sorry, but I really need to run or I won't make my appointment. I wish you all the best! I mean it!", the redhead said and wrapped her arms around her soon-to-be-former neighbour. "Likewise, Rachel. Sometimes we'll run into each other again, I guess. Until then, give my best to Kamal and take care of yourself!", she responded and let the woman go, who vanished down the flight of stairs. "I will", she had said gleefully in her weird high pitched voice, dress flaring, hair bouncing, as she took each step swiftly and Giselle glanced after her. Moments later only the clicking of shoes could be heard, then silence until a door fell into its lock.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

Deep laughter emanated from above, where Giselle had left her group of men. She started off up the stairs when a new set of voices appeared in the stairwell. Ian's voice. And someone else. The brunette sighed and pondered whether to wait for them or head up before them. Churning the ideas over in her head, she decided on a third option. A pretentious visit to the cellar would be a lot better than receiving the two men in the crowded room or by her oddly waiting in the middle of the stairwell. Mind set, she turned on her heel and headed down, just to run into Ian and a blonde, tall man in a suit. Ian's face became immediately friendly, though she felt it was a little forced. In contrary to his company, who gave her a bright smile and a nod. "Hello Ian. And you must be Mr Vernont, did I pronounce that right?", Giselle let her charm play, but didn't exactly know why. It made Ian grumpy. Visibly grumpy. Maybe that was reason enough. He frowned at her as they made their way up the stairs.