Tobias lingered in the garden long after the tail lights of Dima’s red Picanto had vanished down the quiet street. The night was heavy, a velvet weight pressing down on the trimmed hedges and the dark ribs of the trees. He stood in silence, feeling the cottage at his back like a presence—a witness to his own thoughts. Its shuttered windows gleamed faintly in the moonlight, as though the building itself was smirking at him, already in on the secret he was trying so hard not to name.
When he finally returned inside, the house felt emptier than usual. The study, with its strict rows of books and awards, had lost its air of control. The order now mocked him, reminding him how quickly his composure had frayed in front of his new tenant. Tobias sank into his chair, the leather cool against his damp skin, and allowed himself a single admission: he wanted her.
The following week passed in a blur of preparation. Tobias found himself polishing surfaces that hadn’t been touched in years, mowing the lawn twice in three days, even replacing the bulbs in the garden lamps. The work was unnecessary—everything already immaculate—but he couldn’t stop. The property had to look perfect. Or perhaps he was really preparing himself.
The day of her move-in arrived. He stood on the veranda of the main house, arms folded, trying to look casual as her little Picanto rolled up the driveway. The car door swung open and she stepped out, sundress catching the breeze, the glint of her heart-shaped pendant catching the sun. For a moment Tobias forgot to breathe.
“Welcome back,” he said, walking toward her with a smile that felt too tight.
Dima laughed as she hefted her handbag onto her shoulder. “Back already feels like home.”
She followed him through the garden again, along the stepping blocks between hedges. The path seemed narrower this time, the air heavier, their bodies too close. Her perfume lingered in the corridor of greenery, teasing him with every step.
At the cottage door, Tobias tried the key again, and again the old timber resisted. His hand shook faintly, betraying him.
“Still stubborn?” she asked, standing close enough that he felt the warmth radiating from her.
“Seems so,” he muttered.
Her hand brushed his as she reached forward. The lock clicked easily, the cottage door swinging open with a groan, as though surrendering only to her.
Inside, the cottage was bathed in soft light. Timber beams arched low, shadows gathering in the corners, while the scent of fresh varnish lingered faintly in the air. The space was small—too small for the two of them standing so close—and Tobias felt it immediately, the walls pressing in, funneling them together.
Dima stepped inside, her eyes sweeping the space. “It’s perfect,” she said, turning back to him with a mischievous smile.
Her words reverberated strangely in the little room, as if the architecture itself wanted to hold onto them. Tobias shifted, brushing his hair back, suddenly aware of how damp his palms were.
“I’m glad you like it,” he managed.
She tilted her head, eyes locking onto his. “You worked hard on this, didn’t you?”
“Years,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Every plank, every nail… I wanted it to feel alive.”
Dima smiled knowingly. “It does. Alive. Like it’s watching us.”
Tobias laughed nervously, but the sound fell flat against the walls. She wasn’t wrong. The cottage seemed to lean in around them, eavesdropping, complicit.
They walked through the rooms together. Each space felt charged: the bedroom with its low ceiling and soft lighting; the tiny kitchen where the counter forced them to stand closer than necessary; the hallway that barely fit two bodies side by side.
At one point, Dima paused in the bedroom doorway, her fingers trailing lightly along the frame. She turned back to him with that same mischievous smile. “I think I’ll be very comfortable here.”
Tobias cleared his throat, but his voice betrayed him. “Yes… very comfortable.”
Their eyes held longer than they should have. The silence thickened, filled only by the hum of the house and the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath their feet.
When she finally stepped outside again to fetch another bag from her car, Tobias remained frozen in the cottage, breath shallow, heart racing. The walls still hummed with her presence, though she was no longer inside.
He realized then what the house had been trying to tell him all along.
Dima hadn’t just moved into his property. She had moved into him.
And nothing, not rules or reason or walls thick as stone, would keep her from rearranging the architecture of his life.
By the time the last box was carried inside, the sun had slipped below the horizon. The garden lights Tobias had fussed over earlier in the week now flickered softly, casting golden pools across the path. The cottage glowed warmly against the night, its windows lit like eyes peering into the darkness.
Tobias lingered longer than necessary. He told himself he was just making sure she was settled, but every excuse kept him near the doorway. Dima unpacked slowly, moving through the cottage like she was already at home. She hummed softly under her breath, a tune he didn’t recognize, but it filled the small rooms, wrapping itself around the timber beams.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked finally, standing in the threshold. The way his shadow stretched across the floor made it look like he belonged in the room with her, not outside of it.
She turned, brushing hair from her face, the chain of her heart-shaped pendant catching the sunlight. “No, I think I’m good. You’ve done more than enough, Tobias.”
He nodded, but didn’t move. The silence grew thicker, cushioned by the hum of the cottage walls.
“You sure?” he pressed. “Extra blankets? A fan?”
Her smile curved slowly, deliberately. “You worry too much. You’ll see—I’ll be fine. Besides…” Her eyes held his. “If I need anything… I know where to find you.”
The words hung between them, heavier than the afternoon air. Tobias shifted, brushing his hand through his hair again, the gesture betraying him. “Right. Of course. Well then…”
He lingered another second, then stepped back, letting the door swing half-closed. The latch didn’t quite catch, leaving the faintest crack of connection between them.
Back in the main house, Tobias tried to read. The study’s shelves loomed like a jury, staring him down. He closed the book after three pages, restless. He paced the hall, each step echoing against the hardwood floors. The house felt too empty now, even though it wasn’t. Every creak in the beams, every whisper of the wind through the eaves seemed charged with her presence.
He opened the window again. The garden air drifted in, carrying the faintest trace of jasmine—the perfume she wore earlier when they had brushed past each other at the door. It was maddening, the way the scent clung to him, as though the space itself had been altered.
Near midnight, the garden fell utterly still. The lamps hummed faintly, casting longing shadows across the path that led to the cottage. Tobias found himself standing at his own doorway again, gazing toward the glow of her windows.
That was when he heard it.
A gentle knock.
His heart stilled. Then he realized: no, it wasn’t a knock from outside at all. It was the echo of the rafters stretching the roof above him, as though the house itself was playing tricks on him.
He shook his head, half-laughing at his own foolishness. Yet he couldn’t move away. He stood there in the dark, watching the soft amber light of her cottage window, waiting. Hoping.
And then, as though the night itself had conspired with his thoughts, her shadow moved across the curtain. A pause. A flicker. She had come to the window, maybe looking out, maybe searching for him.
Tobias’s breath caught. The old house behind him creaked, as if it too leaned closer, straining to hear what neither of them said aloud.
The night ended without another word, but the silence was louder than anything else.
For the first time in years, Tobias felt the architecture of his life shift—not a collapse, not yet, but the subtle movement of walls realigning, doors unlocking, foundations trembling.
And in the quiet glow of that cottage, with her shadow lingering on the curtain, he knew: the temptation he had tried to resist was no longer outside him. It was already inside these walls.
Lives Between Walls 
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