“I don’t want to argue either. But when are you finally going to fix that shelf?”
On Saturday after breakfast, Laura started cleaning the flat. Kyle sat on the kitchen sofa with his laptop. His job was to take the rubbish out later. For now, he was scrolling through a newsfeed on social media.
A photo suddenly popped up of his cheerful old mate Harry, who he’d studied with at uni. The caption read: *”Finally! It’s happened! Moved in! Come round and celebrate with me—check it out, have a proper nose around!”* Kyle clicked the link and saw pictures of the flat, shot from all the best angles.
A year ago, Harry had inherited the place from his late grandmother. The flat hadn’t been touched in forty years—old Soviet-era furniture, crumbling walls. It would’ve cost a fortune to make it livable, and he didn’t have the money. Harry nearly sold it straight away. He and his wife had been saving for a place, and selling the inheritance would’ve sped things up.
But his wife, Sophie, dug her heels in. The flat was a wreck, but it was in central London. She suggested using their savings for a proper refurbishment so they could sell it for way more—enough for the two-bed they’d always wanted.
The renovation took almost a year. But the result was unrecognisable. Harry bragged about all the *hidden potential* they’d uncovered—knocking down the wall between the loo and bathroom, merging the kitchen with one of the bedrooms to create a massive living space. They’d played with clever colour schemes, bought affordable modern furniture in minimalist style, and turned a dump into something straight out of an interiors magazine.
The comments were full of praise. Everyone congratulated him, some gushed, others seethed. Most assumed they’d hired a professional designer.
*”Nah, we just did our research online, looked at modern flats. Did everything ourselves except the heavy demolition and floor levelling. Sophie planned the layout, picked the wallpaper,”* Harry insisted.
Kyle gave a polite congratulations, though envy gnawed at him. He and Laura lived in a cramped one-bed. His dad’s old friend had moved to America after his wife died but hadn’t sold his London flat—he’d let Kyle and Laura stay there rent-free, on the condition they didn’t make any changes. Not bad—married with a roof over their heads, fully furnished.
Back in uni, Kyle had fancied Sophie first. But she’d chosen Harry. Lucky sod. Sophie always had an eye for style—even the simplest clothes looked designer on her. Kyle, clueless about fashion, could still see it.
Harry did the grunt work, sure, but the vision was Sophie’s. And it paid off. Kyle glanced around his and Laura’s drab little kitchen. Perfectly fine… until he saw Harry’s place.
Bloody hell, Harry. Kyle grabbed his laptop and rushed into the living room, forgetting Laura’s golden rule during cleaning—*don’t disturb her*. Let her vent, then approach…
Laura was on tiptoe, stretching to dust a wobbly wall-mounted shelf. Kyle noticed—not for the first time—how stunning she looked. Just then, the shelf tilted. The books were already stacked on the floor. The screws were barely holding on.
He tried to slip away before she saw him, but Laura turned, blowing a strand of hair from her face.
*”Just standing there? You could’ve fixed the shelf.”*
*”Wanted to show you—look what Harry and Sophie did with his nan’s flat. Wouldn’t say no to a place like that…”* He trailed off at her expression.
*”Let me see.”*
*”Look—brilliant, right? Place was a wreck. Harry nearly sold it…”* Kyle tried to keep the envy out of his voice.
*”Yeah. Well done them,”* Laura said flatly, eyeing Kyle.
*”What? My nan’s still alive, and who knows who she’ll inherit to—two grandkids.”*
*”Long may she live. He says he did it all himself. Sophie just came up with ideas.”*
*”Yeah.”*
*”Still not getting it? How many times have I asked you to fix that shelf? The books have been on the floor for a month, gathering dust. We’ve lived here a year, and every day something’s falling apart. Should I hire someone else to do it? Would that embarrass you? Bet you’d build Sophie a whole house if she asked.”*
*”Yeah, here we go,”* Kyle sighed. *”Everything’s digital now anyway—why d’you buy paper books?”* He snapped the laptop shut and retreated to the kitchen.
*”Wait.”* Laura followed. *”Every time I mention the shelf, you go deaf. I don’t complain about your CDs taking up the whole cupboard. I don’t criticise your hobby—why collect them when you can stream? Let’s swap. You move your CDs to the floor, I’ll put my books up. Maybe then you’ll fix the shelf.”*
*”Let’s just buy a bookshelf. Fine by me,”* Kyle offered.
*”Or better yet, let’s buy a new flat—bigger, ours—where we can do what we want,”* Laura shot back.
*”Laur, I don’t want to argue. Sorry I brought it up,”* Kyle deflated.
*”I don’t either. But when are you fixing the shelf?”*
*”I’ll borrow Dad’s drill tomorrow— Oh, damn, they’re at the cottage all weekend. Monday. Promise.”*
*”Yeah. Heard that before.”* Laura waved him off and left.
*”Why’d I have to mention the bloody flat?”* Kyle cursed silently, texting Harry: *”Just rowed with Laura because of you.”*
*”Relax. Think me and Soph never argue? Nearly divorced three times during the reno. She even wrote the papers—talked her out of it. Laura’s great,”* Harry replied.
Kyle knew Laura was great. Cooked brilliantly, kept the place spotless, never faked a headache. What more could a bloke want?
*”I’ll borrow the drill Monday—dust everywhere, she’ll moan. But I’ll fix it before next weekend’s cleaning, or we’ll be heading for divorce court. Bloody hate hammering. Maybe we should just buy the bookshelf? Nah, she said it wouldn’t fit. Cheers, Harry—mood ruined.”*
Laura cleaned in silence. Monday morning, she reminded Kyle about the drill—should’ve bought their own ages ago.
Of course, he forgot.
Next day, Laura dawdled getting ready for work.
*”You coming?”* Kyle prompted. *”We’ll be late.”*
*”Go ahead. I took two hours off. Booked a ‘handyman’ online. Since you didn’t get the drill. Oh, and the bathroom lock’s broken—liAs they walked back from the shop with the new mop, hands brushing against each other, Kyle realised that love wasn’t about perfect shelves or flawless flats—it was about showing up, even when you’d rather just walk away.
