Chapter 115 The Apartment Viewing
The elevator groaned as it climbed, the mechanical hum vibrating faintly through the soles of Thiago’s sneakers. He stood still beside Marina, arms crossed, his eyes flicking once to the floor counter as it ticked past "2." She glanced over at him briefly, then back to the silver doors.
"You don’t look nervous," she said, half-teasing.
"Should I be?"
"You’re seventeen, about to decide where you want to live for the next year. Alone. In a foreign country. I’d say nerves are allowed."
He shrugged. The truth was, he was nervous. Not about the apartment. About liking it too much. About getting attached. About the idea of planting roots in a place that still didn’t feel like home.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Third floor.
Marina stepped out first, pulling a set of keys from her coat pocket. "Third door on the left."
The hallway was narrow but clean, with beige walls and dull yellow lighting. A framed picture of some abstract landscape hung near the fire extinguisher. As they walked, Thiago noticed the faint scent of detergent and something citrusy in the air—someone must have just cleaned.
Marina reached the apartment door, inserted the key, and turned it. A gentle click. Then she pushed it open and stepped aside.
"Go on," she said, motioning him in.
Thiago stepped through the threshold and stopped.
It was quiet. Not the eerie silence of a hotel lobby at night, but the kind of quiet that felt like potential. Like something untouched.