Dear Neighbour

A story about the thinnest threads of connection.

by Rita Trabulo, Portugal.

800 words.

Written as part of the Bee Writing Lab.

Dear Neighbour,                                                                                          11th November 2025 

I apologise for calling you neighbour. The truth is that I cannot remember your name. If you tell me, it will certainly ring a bell. But as far as I am concerned, I have always treated you as “neighbour”. Where I come from, treating someone as a neighbour is affectionate, sweet, not disrespectful. Neighbour and friend end up being synonymous in my hometown. 

Anyway, please allow me the intrusion. You don't know me. I am the neighbour on the first floor whose balcony stands over your garden. You've probably seen me several times, I'm sure, and we've also greeted each other on the stairs, at the entrance to the building, at the entrance to your home. If I ever introduced myself, it was briefly, and you probably only remember me as “a” neighbour. We never got to talk. I never saw more than your front door and smelled the food you cooked in the beginning, when we moved into this building. I never told you that the aromas of your cooking transported me to my grandmother's house. They had the same smells.  Smelling the fried fish as I went up the stairs or cabbage stew bubbling on the stove was like a welcome home. It's been a while since I smelled them. Lately, I see your meals arriving in the hands of a lady with a deep, cheerful voice in small white plastic boxes. 

All the best,

Your 1^st floor neighbour.

~

Dear Neighbour,                                                                                          12th November 2025 

On mornings when I hang my clothes out to dry on my south-facing balcony, I contemplate the different backyards, balconies and windows I can see from there. I already recognise some faces, clothes pegs and sheets, but before going inside, what I really enjoy is spending the last five minutes admiring your backyard. The colourfulness of it makes me believe that one day I too will succeed at keeping my plants alive. Small pots with dense colourful geraniums, carnations and painted nettles dot the wall of your garden in spring. On the ground, large pots with sturdy, tall plants that stretch their branches and broad leaves towards the sun's rays. There are also plants ready to be transplanted, some with pointed leaves, others with beautiful round purple and green leaves. Here and there, empty pots, flower beds, bags of soil and watering cans. If it rains, I listen to the raindrops hitting the plastic pots and the plastic cover over your clothesline. If it's sunny, I watch you sitting in your plastic chair, leafing through a magazine and enjoying the cosiness of your urban garden. We don't make eye contact, I haven't seen you look up, nor have I ever called out to you. I didn't feel worthy of interrupting that moment that was yours alone. I say good morning mentally and go back inside to work.

Greetings,

Your 1^st floor neighbour, Anna.

~

Hello Neighbour,                                                                                          16th November 2025 

The weather has been good this week. A St. Martin's summer, as they say. During the minutes spent on the balcony above your garden, I peered down, but I didn't always find you. I thought of you and followed what I imagined would be your example if you were there, watering my little plants that were now beginning to sprout and making a herculean effort to push away the heavy soil and stretch their tiny green leaves towards the sun. 

Best,

Anna.

~

Dear Neighbour,                                                                                          25th November 2025 

The weather has taken a turn for the worse. For over a week now, I have been spending my breaks on the balcony alone. I lean against the wall, close my eyes when the sun briefly shines before being covered by a cloud, and open them again in the hope of seeing you. Where have you gone, neighbour? Did your son come to take you for a break away from the city? Or was it your granddaughter? I hope you are together, strolling through the gardens that originally inspired yours. 

See you soon,

Your Anna.

~

Hi,                                                                                                                  26th November 2025 

It has been raining heavily for two days. Today I came home and there was a big commotion at the door of the building. I found the police at your doorstep, a light was on in your corridor, but the house was silent. I didn't peek inside and ran up the stairs to write you this note. I never had the courage to send you any of my letters, but I did not want you to leave without knowing that the heavy grey clouds are making sure that your plants are well watered.

I hope you don't mind, but I brought one of your plants upstairs. The one with purple and green leaves, that stretches out to catch the sun. 

Love,

Anna.