“Now it’s your turn!”
“Have you no shame? Ive just put the baby down, and you’re thundering about like a herd of elephants!”
“Sorry, but its the middle of the day. Your child is your problem,” replied Emily coolly, standing in the doorway of her flat, arms crossed. “Anything else?”
She wiped sweat from her brow indifferently. A minute ago, shed been on the treadmill, only for Sophie to drag her away mid-workout. In an hour, Emily had a meeting with her boss and colleaguessilence hadnt exactly been part of the plan.
“Youre shaking the ceiling! We cant even sit in our own bedroom! Is it even legal to turn your flat into a gym?”
“About as legal as hosting a rave at noon. Sophie, I repeatits daytime. People live, breathe, work. What do you want from me? Tiptoe around my own flat? Not happening,” Emily smirked.
“Are you taking the mickey? You used to beg me to keep it down!”
“Begged, yes. And do you remember what you told me?” Emily arched a brow. “Now you know how it feels. Your turn to lose sleep.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes as if memorising the face of a sworn enemy, then huffed, spun on her heel, and stomped toward the stairs. The corner of Emilys mouth twitched.
She wasnt trying to be pettyjust living her life. But the poetic justice was satisfying. Some people got exactly what they deserved.
—
Sophie had been Emilys neighbour for five years. When Emily first moved in, Sophie had been a carefree uni student, bankrolled by her parents, throwing parties like it was freshers’ week every night.
She blasted music at full volume, screeched along to pop hits, and cackled at jokes loud enough to rattle the walls. Oh, and shed taken up the guitarwith no talent but plenty of enthusiasm for torturing eardrums.
Emily, meanwhile, was Sophies polar opposite. At twenty-three, she already felt like a weary pensioner.
Her mother had left when she was little. Her dad raised her, but illness had knocked him sideways. His sister helped when she could, but she couldnt drop everything to care for him. So Emily did.
She switched to part-time uni, juggled two jobscleaning hotel rooms by morning, stacking shelves by nightand squeezed in sleep wherever possible. Those precious five or six hours in the afternoon? Essential. Without them, shed collapse.
And guess when Sophie chose to crank up action films and off-key karaoke? The walls were paper-thin, turning Emilys flat into a front-row cinemaexcept she hadnt bought a ticket.
Sleeping through explosions and screeching vocals? Impossible. She tried the kitchen, the bathroomnowhere worked.
Emily held her tongue, then finally knocked. Sophie answered with a scowl.
“What dyou want?” she snapped, tone sharp enough to make Emily reconsider.
It was obvious: negotiation was off the table. But Emily clung to hope.
“Hi, sorry to bother you Could you maybe turn the music down? Ive just finished a night shiftI just need a couple hours sleep”
Sophies face twisted like shed bitten a lemon.
“Not my problem. Its my flat, its daytime. Dont like it? Move.”
Humiliation burned in Emilys chest. She had no comebackSophie was technically right. She trudged back upstairs, sleepless, crying under the soundtrack of Sophies laughter.
And not just that day.
Later, colleagues told her she could fight back.
“Actually, daytime noise has limits too,” one said. “You could call the council.”
“And then what?” another cut in. “You know how it works. Proofs a nightmare, and theyll do sod all. Girlll get off scot-free.”
“So what, just suffer? Bullies only win if you let them!”
Emily sighed. She knew the system. The odds were rubbish, and she was too exhausted to bother.
She survived on coffee and valerian root, napped on buses, forgot her own name. Migraines moved in permanently. Soon, she stopped wearing makeup, and her flat descended into chaos. She just couldnt anymore.
Nightmares woke hervisions of being sacked, her dad suffering, her failures costing him everything. Once, she overslept, got fined, and sobbed at the bus stop.
“Itll pass,” shed whisper, hugging herself. But she didnt believe it.
Then it did pass.
When her dad died, the pain was brutala knife twisted in her ribs. But with it came freedom. The weight lifted.
She finished uni, landed a proper job, got promoted. Now she worked remotely, eight hours a day, slept properly, and never feared missing rent or meds.
Sophie, meanwhile, married and had a baby. Her flat was still noisyjust swapped parties for a screaming infant and rowing with her husband.
“Just change the nappy! Hes your kid too!” Sophie shrieked.
“Oh, and whatve you done all day? Sat on your arse?” hed bark back.
Emily just popped in headphones. She hated eavesdropping on meltdowns.
Life now was peaceful. Flexible hours, workmates, gym sessions. Weekends meant film nightsvoluntary, but she joined gladly.
Of course, with paper-thin walls, every laugh carried. Sophie banged on radiators, muttered through the walls
“Bloody nightmare. Like living under a treadmill.”
Twice, they crossed paths in the lift. The once-bright student was now a hollow-eyed mum, hair greasy, cheeks gaunt. Shed scowl and look awaynot that theyd ever exchanged pleasantries.
“Could you lot keep it down?” she hissed once.
“Sophie, we live in flats, not the countryside. Im not breaking any laws. Whats the issue?”
“Nothing,” came the grumble.
Clearly, Sophie had no time for herself now. Just like Emily once hadnt.
After their spat, Emily finished her workout, showered, and sipped blueberry tea at her desk, listening to the baby wail downstairs.
She smiled. Not out of spitejust relief. Relief she wasnt in Sophies shoes. Relief she didnt have to beg for sleep or live in constant panic.
And just a little bit relief that Sophie finally understood.
