Hate at first sight

Three days after leaving my husband, I opened my apartment door and found another man claiming half my home.

At first, I thought he had the wrong building.

He stood in the narrow passage as if it was his house, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black joggers, the other holding a brown envelope. Tall was too small a word for him. He was the sort of tall that made the corridor look cramped. Broad shoulders. Blue eyes too cold for a man dressed that casually. Hair that looked as though he had pushed his hand through it too many times on the way here.

And he was standing right in front of my door.

I tightened my grip on the bottle of water in my hand. “Can I help you?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

I frowned. “Sorry?”

He lifted the envelope a little. “This apartment. I rented it.”

For a second, I only stared at him.

Then I laughed.

Not because it was funny. Because it was absurd, and absurd things had been happening far too often in my life.

“No,” I said, reaching for my keys. “You didn’t.”

His expression did not change. “I did.”

“Well, I live here.”

“That makes two of us.”

I drew in a breath and slid my key into the lock, but before I could turn it, he held the envelope out to me. “You should probably look at this.”

Every part of me wanted to ignore him and walk inside. I was warm from my run, tired, and carrying the sort of headache that came from too many restless nights. But the look on his face that told me he was not joking, and I was tired of being blindsided.

So I took the envelope.

Inside was a copy of a tenancy agreement.

Same address. Same apartment number.

My apartment.

I looked up at him. “Where did you get this?”

“From the housing agent.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Apparently not.”

I went through the paper again, then checked the date. It was recent, signed, stamped and real.

My mouth went dry.

This had to be a mistake.

A stupid, irritating, impossible mistake.

I pulled out my phone and called the agent at once. It rang once, then cut off. I tried again. Switched off.

“Of course,” I said under my breath.

“What did he say?” the man asked.

“He’s not answering.”

He gave a small nod, as though that confirmed something for him. “Same here.”

I looked at him to the agreement in my hand and back again. “So what exactly do you expect me to do? Pack my things and disappear?”

“I want to know why I paid for an apartment that’s already occupied.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You’re being defensive.”

“And you’re standing at my door sounding like a landlord.”

“I’m not sounding like anything. I’m trying to solve a problem.”

I laughed again, “Good for you. I’m trying not to lose my mind.”.

But it had.

I had spent three days in that apartment trying to breathe without fear. Three days learning how to enjoy silence without waiting for a door to bang open. Three days reminding myself that leaving Richard had not been a mistake.

And now this stranger was standing in front of me with official papers and a composed face, telling me the only place that had begun to feel safe was no longer mine alone.

“No,” I said, more to myself than to him. “No. This is not happening.”

He watched me for a beat. “Look. I’m not interested in fighting with you.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

“Do you fight with everyone this quickly?”

I folded the document and pushed it back into the envelope. “Only men who appear uninvited and announce they’ve rented my apartment.”

“I never said I owned it.”

“You said you rented it.”

“Which I did.”

I stepped closer before I could stop myself. “And I’m telling you I rented it first.”

His eyes came to my face. Not mocking. Not gentle either. Just steady.

“Do you have your own copy of the agreement?” he asked.

I hated that it was a fair question.

Still glaring at him, I unlocked the door, pushed it open, and walked inside. A second later, I heard his footsteps behind me.

I turned sharply. “Why are you following me?”

“To see the agreement.”

“You could have waited outside.”

“You could have shut the door.”

I stared at him. “That was the plan.”

My apartment was small, but neat. One couch. One rug. An open kitchen. One bedroom. Everything in it had been chosen because I needed peace. 

I went into the bedroom, took my file from the drawer, and came back with my own copy. I handed it to him.

He read it carefully.

Same reaction. Same silence.

Then he lifted his head. “It’s real.”

“I know it’s real.”

His gaze moved once around the apartment, taking in the single bedroom, the kitchen boxes I had not fully unpacked, the throw blanket over the couch, the pair of running shoes by the wall.

“You moved in recently,” he said.

“Three days ago.”

His eyes returned to mine. “I was supposed to move in yesterday.”

“Well, congratulations. Life disappointed both of us.”

He ignored that. “There’s only one bedroom.”

I folded my arms. “You noticed.”

He ran his thumb along the edge of the paper, thinking.

I did not like quiet men. Richard had taught me that silence could mean anything. Anger. Manipulation. 

The stranger noticed.

His gaze dropped, briefly, to my wrist.

I resisted the urge to cover it.

The bruise there had faded, mostly hidden under my sleeve unless someone was looking closely.

He looked away first.

“We can try the agent again,” he said.

I called, he called but nothing.

I sent a message. No reply.

He sent an email. No response.

By the time I dropped my phone on the counter, I was boiling with frustration.

“This is insane.”

“Yes.” I stared at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“I want you to leave.”

“I paid for the apartment.”

“And I live here.”

He placed both agreements on the counter. “Until we reach the agent, neither of us can prove the other should be the one to go.”

I already knew where this was heading, and I hated it before he said the words.

“So?” I asked.

“So we need a temporary solution.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to suggest.”

“I know enough.”

He held my gaze. “We share the apartment until this is sorted out.”

I gave a disbelieving laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s temporary.”

“You’re a complete stranger.”

“And you think this arrangement is ideal for me?”

“I don’t care whether it’s ideal for you.”

“Clearly.” I opened my mouth, ready to throw him out, ready to say something sharp enough to end the conversation there and then, but my phone rang.

his and hated even more that he was noticing it.My heart dropped the moment I saw the number.