Move in, neighbours and noise

Mom, I'm in the moving truck! Yes, we're really moving. We signed the rental agreement yesterday, and the old tenants had to move out last night. Our new apartment building is on a hill, so the driver says it's a long walk with boxes.

The elevator is broken, of course. We live on the fifth floor. Dad would say it's good exercise.

Okay, we're here. Time to unpack. Box number one: kitchen. Open. It's full of socks. Box number two: kitchen. Socks again. Mom, I think I wrote "kitchen" on all the sock boxes. Dinner is going to be difficult.

On my first evening in the new apartment, the doorbell rang. I was in my pajamas. I opened the door, and there was a very tall man with a plate of cookies.

"Hi, I'm Mr. Hill from next door," he said. "Welcome! It takes time to settle in, so I baked you these." Then he asked, "Do you have a spare key? Give one to me. If you lose yours, I can help."

I said that was very kind. He smiled and held up a key. "Oh, I already have one," he said. "The last tenant gave it to me in 2019." Now I'm a little worried about what else Mr. Hill has.

It's midnight, and the music is so loud that the wall is shaking. I put on my sweater and slippers and go to the apartment next door. I knock.

"Hi, sorry to bother you. I'm Jack, from 6B. I don't want to complain, but your music is really loud, and the walls here are thin. Could you keep it down, please?" The neighbor looks at me. "It isn't my music," she says. "I thought it was yours!"

We both listen. The sound comes from upstairs. We climb the stairs together, still in our slippers, and knock. A boy opens the door, wearing headphones. "Excuse me?" he yells. "I can't hear you!"

I live on the second floor, and every morning at six I hear loud footsteps above my bedroom. Thump, thump, thump. After two weeks I was fed up. I didn't want a fight, so I slid a note under the door upstairs. I wrote politely: "Hi there! I think you get up early. Could you walk a little softer? Thanks so much!"

The next day I found a note taped to my door. "Dear neighbor, I'm so sorry. Those aren't my footsteps. My son is one year old, and he's learning to walk! He wakes up at six. P.S. There's a cake in this bag."

The cake was lemon, and it was delicious. Now I wake up at six every day, and I smile.

I'm moving on Saturday, so this week is crazy. First, I have to give notice. My landlord wants one month, so I sent the email on Monday.

Second, I need to get rid of my old furniture. The couch is too big for my new place. I put it next to the recycling bins with a sign: FREE TO A GOOD HOME. In an hour, it was gone.

Third, I want to have people over for one last party. But my roommate Kai came home, looked at the empty living room and asked, "Where's the couch?" "Free to a good home," I said. "Emre," he said, "that was OUR couch!"