chapter 2

Whoever Wrote This Has Horrible Handwriting

Leah spent the entire morning trying to convince herself she wasn’t curious about the note.

Which would’ve worked better if she hadn’t reread it fourteen times while brushing her teeth.

The handwriting genuinely looked criminal.

Half the letters leaned in different directions like they were trying to escape the sentence.

By evening, the rain had gotten heavier.

Her apartment building groaned every few minutes like an exhausted old man settling into bed.

Leah sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by unfinished sketches, instant noodle cups, and enough self-pity to qualify as interior decoration.

Nothing was working.

Every drawing looked lifeless.

Every line felt forced.

She tossed her pencil away dramatically.

“I used to have talent,” she announced to the empty apartment.

A knock sounded against her door.

Leah nearly launched herself into another dimension.

Silence.

Slowly, cautiously, she walked over and opened the door.

Nobody.

Just the flickering hallway light.

And another folded note on the floor.

She stared at it suspiciously before picking it up.

You talk to yourself when frustrated.

That’s either concerning or artistic.

Leah looked around the hallway.

“Okay, this is getting weird.”

A door somewhere upstairs shut loudly.

She unfolded the second half of the paper.

Also your plant is dying.

She turned around instantly toward the tiny plant near her kitchen window.

“…You traitor.”

The leaves did look slightly tragic.

Leah narrowed her eyes at the hallway like she was being personally challenged by the building itself.

“Who ARE you?”

No answer.

Only rain tapping softly against old windows.

Then, faintly from upstairs—

laughter.

Not loud.

Not mocking.

Just one short laugh that disappeared almost immediately.

Leah stared upward.

Whoever was leaving these notes clearly had two problems:boundary issuesand terrible handwriting.

To be continued.