Between the Cracks

Every night at midnight, they spoke through the old apartment wall.

She had moved in six months ago, and the man next door was her only company in the sleepless hours.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice muffled but warm.

She sighed. “You could say that.”

They shared secrets in the dark, dreams whispered between cracks in the paint.

One night, he asked, “What if we met?”

Her heart pounded. “What if it ruins this?”

Silence. Then—

“What if it makes it better?”