The fright is so big that my whole body shakes and I end up dropping the bag in my hand. He’s also scared because I hear an exclamation and see him take a step back, hitting the hallway wall.

“Sorry,” he says. His voice is soft and melodious. “I was startled.”

I keep looking at him, trying to identify where I know him from. The corridor’s light is minimal and my eyes are still adjusting. His voice is familiar, but I can’t see his face well.

“I’m not a thief, I swear,” he says. He raises his hands and the screen of his cell phone shines, illuminating his face.

He’s a handsome neighbor who lives in the apartment across mine. I don’t know his name, but I’ve met him exactly four times -- including this one -- and each time has been more disastrous than the last.

The first time I was coming home almost in the morning after a beauty product launch, and he was leaving. The contrast between us was absurd. While he looked beautiful, freshly bathed, and smelling of soap, I stank of cigarettes because some of my friends wouldn’t stop smoking, and the smell had impregnated my clothes.

The second time was when I had to run to catch the elevator. I was already late, and when I saw the door closing, I’d barely locked the door of my apartment and ran towards the elevator with my backpack still open, my earphones about to fall, my cell phone and wallet in hand, and a sweater thrown over my head. He, as always, was impeccable, wearing running clothes and smiling sympathetically at me while I wished I could go back in time and not have entered the elevator looking like a street vendor.

The third time was more recent and as horrible as the others, or maybe a little worse. I had gone out to buy food and litter for Jupiter because I had forgotten and she had nothing. As if to mock me, a storm formed in the few minutes it took me to walk to the nearest pet store, and I had to buy a ten-dollar umbrella to be able to get back home. On my way back, I had to stop to adjust the weight of the bags in my hands, and a strong wind hit the umbrella, causing it to fly away, and I had to run after it on the street, carrying the heavy bags. I only stopped when it went into the middle of the road and a car ran over it, destroying it completely.

I had to make my way back in the rain, frustrated and angry, and when I opened the gate, my neighbor was leaving, perfectly dressed and prepared for the rain, holding an umbrella in one hand and wearing a black jacket. This time, he was wearing big, round glasses with a thin frame. I admit that I had never been a big fan of glasses, but of course, I had never seen my neighbor wearing them. After that, I became obsessed with men in glasses.

Anyway, back to the subject, he held the elevator door for me and asked if everything was okay and if I needed help, and I just grumbled something before looking down because he was so beautiful and I was so destroyed that I couldn’t even look at him properly. When the door closed, and I went to press the button for my apartment, I saw that it was already pressed. He must have done that when he saw that my hands were full. And I was still rude to him.

And now, for the fourth time, he sees me at my worst. I just woke up from a nap and my eyes are sunken, my hair has dried on its own and is worse than ever because I barely used conditioner, and there’s a bag reeking of cat poop at my feet.