It was three years before they spoke for the first time.

Emily had moved into her attractive apartment straight out of the home she had shared with her parents for the first twenty one years of her life and had been exhilarated by the sense of independence she attained from this simple change in residence. Every morning she climbed happily out of bed and used the building's gym for an hour or so, before returning home to shower and dress for her job as a librarian.

The first time she saw him, in front of the elevator on her way out of the building, she had lived there for over a month already and had developed her perfect routine. At precisely 7:54am (or near enough to make no matter) she would stop at the elevator and check her phone for any messages she might have received during her sleep. For over a month she did this alone, until one morning when she arrived to find someone else, a gentleman, already waiting for the lift. She was so put off by this disturbance in her routine that she forgot to check her phone and missed her sister's plea for a wake-up call until later in the morning.

He was dressed as smartly as she was, with drably coloured clothes and nice shoes. His light brown hair was neatly parted on the side and his briefcase was nondescript. Emily stood nervously behind him, wondering why this man had thrown her so out of whack. There was something about him that caught her eye, something about the way he held himself that she found intriguing.

After that first time, she ran into him more often than not in the mornings that she left for work, but sometimes saw him in the elevator after starting or completing other tasks, like her food shopping. He appeared never to take any particular notice of her, which just made her even more interested.

Then, one morning just like any other, he turned to her and said, "My name is Donald."

Emily stood, gaping like a fish for a moment before she collected herself and replied with, "Hi, Donald. My name is Emily."

"Emily." He smiled. "And which apartment is yours, Emily?"

"218. Just around the corner from the lift. What number is yours?"

"211. Much closer to the elevator." He smiled at her again with a sidelong glance just as the lift arrived and they both stepped in.

Emily was now even more nervous because the silence was growing and she was convinced that it was an awkward one. She racked her brain for something to say, desperately trying to find one interesting thing about her life that she could talk about, but everything she had ever done fled her mind.

Luckily for her, the elevator ride was a short one, and it wasn't long before Donald looked at her one last time and said, "Nice to meet you, Emily," before leaving the building.