If there was one thing Teuta could most often appreciate, it was an evening all to herself. She loved her parents, and Luka and Adam were absolutely great, but she also enjoyed her own company. This is the main reason why she refuses to have any roommates, even as rent eats up a good chunk of her earnings.
She enjoyed the solitude as much as she enjoyed the company of others. She takes it as a form of maturity, as it is much too easy to drown one's loneliness in constant companionship, but it is also quite sad, and it does not solve anything. A night with only a lukewarm cup of coffee drowned in sweets, on the other hand, her cat brushing against her calves, and stone-cold silence, it was a blessing how much comfort it brought her. It is all about the little pleasures, and pleasures they are.
Only peace, no bother or concern about the forgettable things in life. Who cares about those stupid vanguard poets? Who cares about busy trains, angry bosses and overdue bills? She just needs a time for herself, to reflect on the day, savour the good things and let go of the bad. This is living, this is restful, this is relaxing.
Yet, it seemed as if Teuta would not be getting any of it for tonight. For a moment, for a dearly-missed moment, she had her peace, her hot beverage and her cat brushing against her calves. All three of those blissfully tranquil things, but moments like these were always too short. It was all cut off short before she could step forward and truly live in them. They were blips of time that she could only miss the minute they left she behind.
Teuta missed the precise minute that moment left her immediately after it was long gone, and then she cursed herself for not savouring it as well as she should have. Because yes, she had her cat — Max, she had named it on a random draw on the internet, despite Adam insisting that it was more of a dog's name — and she did have that steaming cup of overly sweet coffee mixed in cream, the sort of drink that Luka would insist it was a crime against all things coffee. The silence, however, seemed to be notably absent.
In its place, a piano. An obnoxiously loud piano.
It was hardly an instrument she hated. Actually, the girl always wished she learned how to play, but it was clear from the start that she is a veritable disaster with any musical instruments, much to the dismay of her father. The person playing it was hardly a novice, either, as they reached every note with graceful precision and even a little flair to give it character.
It would be positively pleasant to listen in almost any other situation, to the point she wondered sometimes whether that person was a musician for a living, perhaps someone with the Symphonic Orchestra. However, right now, with the blinding migraine she had gotten from the loud shouting and banging at the event she just covered for her column, she really did miss her sweet, sweet silence.
The young journalist had not met her new neighbour yet, and, in spite of any curiosity her profession might have fostered in her, she had no plans to. If they could be living in her apartment building for all of two months and she already knew their favourite pieces by heart, then she had no urge to know them. Not when they continuously took away her silence.
Just because of that stupid, irritating, loud banging that passed as poetry in the gentrified parts of Black Hawk and the stupid, irritating, blinding migraine it gave her, and because of that alone, she stood up. The short-haired girl took all the steps required to get to their shared wall, which was, unfortunately, the same wall that the head of her bed laid against, and raised her hand to it.
And then, as eloquently as she could manage, Teuta pounded her fist.
It was not something that she did often, as she would usually prefer to avoid confrontation, but enough was enough. Her rage-induced banging echoed throughout her room, making her bookcase shake, but she did not let up. Not until Brahms' Waltz did the same.
Thankfully, her neighbour seemed to get the message and the notes stopped abruptly, hanging off the measure, waiting to be finished, and she swore to whatever divinity that would listen that if they hit that third beat, she would not hesitate to break down the wall.
Silence was finally achieved.
Teuta sighed, rolling her neck, before returning to her kitchen, where her cooling cup of coffee was waiting. Max joined on the barstool next to her, and she focused on how perfect the evening became.
Coffee, cat, silence.
No more neighbours. No more music.
It might have been aggressive? Most certainly it was. If she ever came to meet the person who was behind this wall, whomever they are, they would not be her biggest fan. Perhaps there was a more mature way to solve the dispute, through amicable conversation and firm negotiation, but none were that efficient.
She had a migraine now, not two weeks in the future, after long discussion and not just a little bit of begging.
It must be said that her neighbour knows the outline of her apartment. It was the same as theirs, as their building was designed with two units per floor, four floors up. So, it stands to reason that they know how small it is, and that there is no escape from a loud noise coming from the walls.
Still, it might have been excessive, and guilt was clawing on her stomach. She decided she would leave an apology in the morning to her neighbour. A note on the mailbox seems good enough.
Well, at least they are quiet now, and so she can enjoy her coffee in peace, and enjoy she would.
