Well, Dad, this is a welcome! Why ever did you need that health resort when you’ve got “all inclusive” at home? When Dmitry handed her the keys to his flat, Eva realised: her Bastille was conquered. Not even DiCaprio waited for his Oscar as eagerly as Eva waited for her Dmitry—with her own little nest, no less. Despondent and thirty-five, she found herself increasingly casting sympathetic glances at stray cats and browsing “Craft Supplies” shop windows. Then came Dmitry: single, having spent his youth on his career, kale salads, the gym, and other nonsense like “finding himself,” and childless to boot. Eva had been wishing for this moment since she was twenty—her very own flat key. Perhaps, high above, someone finally realised she wasn’t joking. “I’ve got my last work trip of the year, and then I’m all yours,” Dmitry said, handing over those precious keys. “Just don’t be shocked by my bachelor den. I only come home for sleep!” He jetted off to another time zone for the weekend. Eva grabbed her toothbrush and face cream and set off to investigate the bachelor pad. Trouble started at the door—Dmitry had warned her the lock’s temperamental, but she hadn’t expected this. She spent forty minutes storming the door: pushing, pulling, inserting the key fully, politely trying a gentle twist, but it stubbornly refused her entry. Eva resorted to psychological pressure, as taught behind school sheds years ago. A neighbour’s door opened at the commotion. “Why are you forcing your way into someone else’s flat?” asked a concerned lady. “I’m not forcing—I’ve got a key!” growled a sweaty Eva. “And who are you, exactly? Never seen you before…” “I’m his girlfriend!” Eva declared, hands on hips, though her claim was heard only through a crack in the neighbour’s door. “You?” said the woman, genuinely surprised. “Yes, me. Is that a problem?” “Oh no, just—he’s never brought anyone home before (Eva loved Dmitry even more at that moment)—and suddenly, someone like…” “Someone like what?” Eva demanded. “Well, it’s none of my business. Sorry,” and the neighbour closed the door. Determined to win, Eva jammed the key in with a vengeance fit to twist off the entire doorframe. The door finally gave way. All Dmitry’s inner world was suddenly exposed—and Eva’s soul frosted over. Of course, young single men are known for austerity, but this was a monk’s cell. “Poor thing, your heart’s long forgotten—or never known—comfort,” Eva murmured, surveying the spartan quarters she’d now frequent. But, to her delight, the neighbour hadn’t lied: no female touch had ever graced these walls, floors, kitchen, or uncoloured windows. Eva was the first. Unable to resist, Eva dashed out to the nearest shop for a pretty shower curtain, a bath mat, and potholders and towels. At the shop, she was swept away: along with the mat and curtain came air fresheners, handmade soaps, and handy cosmetics organisers. “Adding little touches to someone else’s flat isn’t too cheeky,” Eva reassured herself, adding a second trolley to her haul. The lock gave up resisting. In fact, it ceased functioning altogether—like a hockey goalie forgets his mask on game day. Realising she’d made a mess, Eva spent the night wresting out the old lock with kitchen knives, and bought a new one the next morning. The knives had to go, too—along with new forks, spoons, a tablecloth, cutting boards, trivets… soon enough, curtains were on the list. On Sunday, Dmitry rang to say his trip was running long. “I’ll be thrilled if you bring some warmth and comfort to my place,” he smiled down the line, when Eva confessed a few liberties taken with his decor. By now, Eva had truckloads of cosiness arriving, distributed with plans and documentation. Years of pent-up longing—and with her hands untied, she just couldn’t stop. By Dmitry’s return, only the spider beside the air vent remained from the old flat. Eva considered evicting it—then, seeing its eight startled eyes, decided to leave it as a symbol of respecting another’s property. Dmitry’s home now looked as if he’d been happily married for eight years, grown disillusioned, then happy again despite it all. Eva hadn’t just transformed the flat—she’d made sure the whole building knew who the new mistress was, and directed all queries her way. No ring yet, but that was strictly technical. Initially, neighbours eyed her warily, but soon shrugged: “As you say, it’s your business.” On Dmitry’s return day, Eva prepared a proper homemade meal, decked herself out in her prettiest—perhaps even a bit much—outfit, scattered incense, dimmed the new lights, and waited. He was delayed. As the outfit started pinching uncomfortably, the key turned in the new lock. “It’s brand new, just give it a push—it’s not locked!” Eva called, a little flustered but sultry. She feared no judgement. She’d worked too hard on the flat. She’d be forgiven. Just then, Eva received a surprise text from Dmitry: “Where are you? I’m home. Place looks exactly the same. My mates warned me you’d drown everything in face cream.” Eva only read it later, for at that moment, five complete strangers entered: two young men, two schoolkids, and one very elderly grandad who, spotting Eva, stood tall and smoothed his sparse grey hair. “Well, Dad, you’re getting quite the reception. Really, why bother with a spa when home’s all-inclusive?” joked one man, earning an immediate scold from his wife for ogling. Eva stood in the doorway with two full glasses, frozen in shock. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t move. The spider giggled happily in the corner. “Excuse me, but who are you?” Eva squeaked. “I own this little nest. And you must be from the surgery, come to change my dressing? But I said I’d manage,” replied Grandad, eyeing Eva’s nurse get-up. “Ah yes, Adam Matveevich, it’s awfully cosy and homely in here,” piped up the younger man’s wife. “Quite a change—used to feel like a tomb. And you, miss, what’s your name? Isn’t Adam Matveevich a bit old for you? Granted, he’s got his own place…” “E-E-Eva…” “Well! Impressive, Adam Matveevich, your people skills! Can’t deny it!” Judging by his twinkling eyes, Grandad found this coincidence most agreeable. “Where’s Dmitry?” whispered Eva, nervously downing both glasses. “I’m Dmitry!” chirped an eight-year-old boy. “Not yet, sweetheart, wait your turn,” mom hushed, shepherding both kids and her husband out to their car. “E-excuse me, I seem to be in the wrong flat,” Eva began, gathering her wits and recalling her lock adventure. “This is Lilac Street, eighteen, flat twenty-six?” “Nope—this is Beech Road, eighteen,” Grandad rubbed his hands, ready to unpack his luck. “Right,” Eva sighed dramatically. “My mistake. Please settle in, I’ll just step out to make a call.” She grabbed her phone and retreated to the bathroom, barricading herself with a towel. That’s when she read Dmitry’s text. “Dmitry, I’ll be right over—just held up at the shop,” she replied hastily. “Alright, I’m waiting. If you can, pick up a bottle of red,” Dmitry requested by voice message. Eva still planned on bringing red—but it would be in her cheeks. Tucking her mat under one arm and snatching down the curtain, she waited for the strangers to move into the kitchen before darting from the bath. She scooped her things into a bag and dashed out. *** “I’ll explain later,” Eva muttered, as Dmitry opened his door. Moving in a fog, she passed straight by him and went first to the bathroom to install her curtain and mat, then collapsed on the sofa and slept until the stress and red flushed away. Upon waking, Eva found a puzzled Dmitry before her, awaiting answers. “Sorry, what’s this address again…?” “Butler Avenue, eighteen.”

Well, Dad, look at the welcome you’re getting. And what did you need that spa for when you’ve got such all-inclusive at home?

When Daniel handed Laura the keys to his flat, she knew: shed finally made it. No Leonardo DiCaprio ever waited for his Oscar as eagerly as Laura waited for her Daniel, and now she had her own little nest as well.

Despondent and thirty-five, shed begun shooting sympathetic glances at stray cats and the windows of Everything for Crafts shops.

And then there was Danielsolitary, having spent his youth building his career, eating kale, hitting the gym, and chasing after all that nonsense about finding yourself, all while remaining child-free.

Laura had been wishing for this since she was twenty, and it seemed the heavens had finally realized she wasnt joking.

Ive got one last business trip this year, then Im all yours, Daniel said, relinquishing those precious keys. Dont be alarmed by my den. Im only ever home to sleep, he smirked, then headed off to another time zone for the weekend.

Laura took her toothbrush, her face cream, and went to investigate this den. The trouble began at the door. Daniel had warned that the lock was temperamental, but Laura hadnt imagined it was this bad.

She wrestled with the door for forty minutespushing, pulling, jiggling the key, asking politely for cooperationbut the door clearly didnt want a new resident.

Laura began working psychological tactics, recalling what her classmates once taught her behind the garages. Her commotion drew out a neighbour.

Why are you forcing your way into someone elses flat? came an anxious womans voice.

Im not, Ive got the keys, Laura replied, sweating.

And who are you? Havent seen you before, nosy as ever, the neighbour pursued.

Im his girlfriend! Laura declared with a touch of defiance, hands on hips, but saw only the sliver of a door as the woman eyed her warily.

You? The neighbour blinked in surprise.

Yes, me. Is there a problem?

No, no problem, love. Its just, hes never brought anyone here before, (at that, Laura adored Daniel even more), then suddenly there you are

And whats that meant to mean? Laura pressed.

Oh, dont mind me. None of my business, the woman apologised, closing her door.

Realising it was now or never, Laura shoved the key with all her pent-up yearning until the lock nearly spun off its hinges. The door gave way.

Daniels entire world stood revealed before her, and Lauras heart iced over. Of course, a young man living alone is expected to be a bit minimalist, but this bordered on monastic.

Poor soulyour hearts forgotten, or maybe never known, what home feels like, Laura blurted, surveying the meagre lodgings where shed henceforth spend much time.

Yet, she felt relief. The neighbour hadnt liedno woman had ever touched these walls, this floor, this kitchen, these dreary windows. Laura was the first.

Unable to stand it another minute, she threw on her shoes and dashed to the nearest shop for a pretty shower curtain and bath mat, along with oven mitts and towels for the kitchen.

Once inside, the shopping urge took hold Fragrances, handcrafted soaps, handy storage bins for makeup joined the haul.

A sprinkle of comfort in someones flat isnt overstepping, Laura assured herself, as she attached a second trolley to her first.

The lock never troubled her again. In fact, it stopped doing its job at all and was about as useful as a hockey goalie whod forgotten his helmet.

Seeing what shed done, Laura spent the night swapping out the old lock with kitchen knives, and sprinted out in the morning for a new one. Naturally, the knives now needed replacing. And the forks, spoons, tablecloth, chopping boards, and trivets for hot pots. Curtains would follow.

By Sunday afternoon, Daniel rang to say his trip was delayed by a couple more days.

Id be happy if you made my place a little warmer and cosier, he chuckled, when Laura mentioned taking some liberties with his interior.

By now, homey bits were arriving in vanloads, sorted per technical plan and full documentation. Years of nesting instinct built up inside Laura, and now, unleashed, she couldnt stop.

By Daniels return, all that remained of the old flat was the spider by the vent. Laura considered relocating him, but, seeing those eight alarmed eyes struggling with the changes, reckoned it wiser to leave him be as a symbol of respecting other peoples property.

Now Daniels flat looked like hed been happily married for eight years, got disappointed, then found happiness in spite of it.

Laura not only embraced the flat but alerted the block that she was now the lady of the house, ready to field questions. No ring on her finger yet, but, well, details.

Neighbours first eyed her suspiciously, then shrugged: Quite right, love. None of our business. You carry on.

***

The day Daniel returned, Laura whipped up a true home-cooked meal, dressed herself in a strikingly flamboyant outfit, set candles in the corners and, dimming the new lights, awaited him.

Daniel delayed. As the dress started to pinch her efforts from months at the gym, a key turned in the lock.

Its a new lock, just give it a pushits open! Laura called out, both embarrassed and invitingly. She wasnt afraid of judgment. Shed worked too hard on the flat. Theyd surely forgive her.

Just then, Lauras phone buzzed with a sudden text from Daniel: Where are you? Im home. The flat looks unchanged. My mates warned youd cover everything with makeup!

She saw the message much later. Because, at that moment, the door opened to reveal five complete strangers: two young men, two school-age kids, and one elderly gentleman who, seeing Laura, instantly straightened up and smoothed what was left of his white hair.

Well, Dad, youve got a reception! And why bother with that spa when homes all-inclusive? the younger man piped, getting a smack from his wife for ogling.

Laura, standing at the threshold with two full wine glasses, was rooted to the spot. She wanted to scream, paralysed by disbelief.

Somewhere in the corner, the delighted spider sniggered.

Sorry, but who are you? Laura piped.

Owner of this humble flat. And youare you from the surgery, here to do my bandages? I did say Id manage on my own, replied the old man, eyeing Lauras nurse-esque attire.

Well, Adam Hawkins, its downright homely in here now, the younger woman peeked past Laura, A far cry from how you people were living before. And you, dear, whats your name? Not too young for our Adam, are you? Though hes a respectable gent, his own place and all

L-Laura

Brilliant! Adam Hawkins, you know how to pick em!

By the sparkle in his eye, Adam seemed more than pleased with this unexpected turn.

And wheres Daniel? whispered Laura, draining both glasses in one go.

Im Daniel! piped up the eight-year-old.

Not yet, poppet, his mother corrected, ushering the children and husband out to the car.

S-sorry, I think Ive got the wrong flat, Laura finally found her voice, remembering the lock. Is this Lilac Avenue, number eighteen, flat twenty-six?

No, its Beech Grove, number eighteen, Adam replied, rubbing his hands, eyeing his surprise gift.

Oh, Laura sighed tragically, Ive muddled it. You settle in, Ill just step aside, need to make a call.

She grabbed her phone and escaped to the bathroom, barricading herself with a towel. Only then did she read Daniels message.

Daniel, Ill be there soon, just got held up at the shop, she hurriedly replied.

Great, looking forward to it. If you dont mind, pick up a bottle of red? came Daniels voice note.

She was about to bring some red, though now it was burning inside her cheeks. Packing up the bath mat, removing the shower curtain, she waited for the strangers to head to the kitchen before sneaking out.

She swept her bits into a carrier bag and sped from the wrong flat.

***

Ill explain later, Laura said when Daniel opened his door, unable to face him just yet.

Moving as if in fog, she walked past him without a glance. First, straight to the bathroom where she replaced the shower curtain and spread out the mat, then she crashed onto the sofa and slept until morning, letting the stress and red wine finally drain away.

When she woke, a puzzled Daniel sat before her, silently seeking an explanation.

Sowhats the address here, again?

Baker Street, eighteen

Sometimes, even with the best of intentions, and all the planning in the world, you end up on the wrong doorstep. But as Laura learned, a sense of belonging doesnt come from a perfectly decorated flat or getting everything rightsometimes, its simply about not being afraid to start over, laugh at yourself, and find your way back home.