My name is Emily, I’m 29 years old, and I live in Aurora, Colorado. I moved into my apartment complex last spring, mostly because it was quiet and forgettable. Beige buildings, assigned parking, neighbors who nodded politely and kept walking. That was exactly what I wanted. A new tenant moved in across the hall in early fall. Mid-thirties, friendly in a practiced way. We crossed paths a few times—mailroom, laundry, elevator. Normal small talk. He introduced himself once, then again a week later, like he was making sure I remembered.
The question came on a Tuesday evening. I was unlocking my door when he stepped out of his apartment. He smiled and said, “Hey, quick question—do you live alone?” It wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t aggressive. That somehow made it worse. I laughed awkwardly and said something vague like, “Oh, my roommate’s usually around,” which was a lie. He nodded, then followed up with, “Oh yeah? I never see anyone else coming or going. What time do they usually get home?”
My hand froze on the doorknob. I gave a non-answer and went inside, heart racing. I locked the door behind me, then checked it twice. The question replayed in my head all night. Maybe he was just curious. Maybe he was lonely. But curiosity has a line, and he’d crossed it without hesitation. Over the next few days, I noticed things I hadn’t before. He seemed to be outside his door a lot. He commented on when I came home late. Once, he joked that I must be “a creature of habit” because my schedule was predictable.
I stopped wearing earbuds in the hallway. I changed when I left for work. I started texting a friend when I parked so someone would know I was home. One night, I ran into him again while taking out the trash. He asked if my “roommate ever moved back in.” I told him, flatly, that my personal life wasn’t his business. He raised his hands and laughed like I’d misunderstood everything. “Just being neighborly,” he said. Maybe he was. But safety isn’t about proving intent—it’s about trusting instincts. I installed a door camera. I spoke to management. I made my presence less predictable and my boundaries very clear. He stopped talking to me entirely after that. Sometimes I feel dramatic when I think about it. Nothing technically happened. No threats. No confrontation. But I learned something important: discomfort doesn’t need evidence to be valid. A single question can reveal how closely someone is paying attention—and whether they think they’re entitled to answers. I still live here. I just don’t assume quiet means safe anymore.
