Maya pressed her thumb into the warm cinnamon roll and watched the frosting ooze out from beneath her finger, pooling slowly onto the paper plate. Saturday mornings were sacred in her apartment.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her neighbor, Derek.
Your music is too loud. Some of us work weekends.
She glanced at her speaker. The volume was barely above a whisper — soft jazz, the kind her grandmother used to play. Maya set down the cinnamon roll and typed back a polite apology anyway, even though she didn't quite mean it.
Her friend Priya called ten minutes later.
"I heard what happened with the building parking situation," Priya said. "They gave all the covered spots to the new tenants? People who've lived there for years are just out in the cold?"
"I know." Maya leaned against the kitchen counter. "It's a real injustice. Mrs. Okafor is seventy-two. She's been there longer than anyone."
"You should say something at the tenant meeting."
"I will."
After hanging up, Maya heard a knock. She opened the door to find Derek standing there, looking slightly sheepish, holding a coffee cup.
"I was a jerk this morning," he said flatly. "I've been stressed about this parking thing, but that's not your problem. I'm sorry."
Maya blinked, then smiled a little. "You heard us talking?"
"Thin walls." He shrugged. "I'm going to the meeting too."
She nodded and picked up her cinnamon roll. "Good. Mrs. Okafor will appreciate it."
Outside, the morning was quiet and ordinary — exactly how she liked it.