The Chronicles Of A Goofy New Neighbour

Welcome To The White Fortress

They say first impressions matter, but when I first arrived at my new residence — a plain white building that looked suspiciously like an overgrown marshmallow — I’m sure I didn’t leave one. Nobody saw me arrive. Nobody knew I had moved in. If a person moves into a building and no one sees them, did they really move in?

Clutching my oversized bags like it was my last possession on Earth, I squinted up at the whitewashed walls, wondering if I’d just walked into a life-sized Rubik’s Cube with no colors. Upstairs, I noticed the ‘Finance Office’ sign. “Ah, financial wisdom surrounds me,” I thought. But the ground floor was where I’d find my humble abode, shared with two families I had yet to meet.

The Great Disappearing Act

I’m not sure if it’s my love for mystery novels or just social anxiety, but I somehow became a master of stealth. My movement pattern inside the building resembled that of a secret agent on a high-stakes mission. No unnecessary sounds. No sudden moves. I’d wait for the coast to clear before I’d dart to the kitchen, only to freeze in place if I heard the faintest shuffle from behind a door.

Neighbours would peek out like curious meerkats, their heads barely visible through door cracks. Sometimes I’d catch their eyes, and both of us would freeze like two deer caught in each other’s headlights. No words. Just awkward acknowledgment. I’m pretty sure one of them referred to me as “The Phantom of Flat No. 2”.

Enter The Tiny Humans

They say heroes show up when you least expect them. Mine arrived in the form of two pint-sized whirlwinds — a 7-year-old boy and girl from the neighbouring family. Unlike the adults, these two didn’t believe in peeking. No, they believed in storming in like they owned the place.

“DIDI! DIDI! DIDI!” they’d scream at the top of their lungs as soon as they spotted me. I’m convinced they had a ‘Didi Radar’ that activated the moment I even thought about coming home. At first, I’d try to maintain my stealthy ghost persona, but these two would track me down with the determination of detectives on a TV crime show.

A Knock That Cannot Be Ignored

There’s a certain joy in solitude — that blissful silence where you’re alone with your thoughts. Except when two miniature humans think you’ve disappeared. On days when I’d lock my door, seeking peace, the two would start their ‘Operation Didi Retrieval’ mission.

Knock. Knock. Knock. “Didi, we know you’re in there!” Knock. Knock. Knock. “Didi, open the door!”

At first, I’d ignore them, hoping they’d get bored and leave. But their persistence rivalled that of internet pop-up ads. They’d knock, wait, knock harder, then begin a relentless campaign of giggles and repeated calls of “Didi, Didi, Didi!” Finally, I’d give up, open the door, and be greeted with two beaming smiles as if they’d just rescued me from a hostage situation. I’d sigh, but secretly, I’d feel a small flicker of joy in my heart. “My personal rescue squad,” I’d think.

From Phantom To Family

As time passed, I’d stopped sneaking around. I’d stopped peeking through the peephole to see if the coast was clear. My footsteps grew louder, and I’d started leaving the door open just a crack, knowing that two sets of little feet would soon come charging in with boundless energy. We’d sit on the floor, study, colour, or just share the silence that’s only possible when you’re comfortable with each other. Their excitement to see me became the highlight of my day. The kids didn’t just make me feel like a neighbour — they made me feel like family.

If you’d told me a few months ago that I’d go from being a ghostly figure haunting the corridors to being “Didi,” I would’ve laughed. But here I am — loud footsteps, an open door, and two unrelenting kids who’d never let me be a stranger again. Sometimes, we search for belonging in grand gestures or big changes. Other times, it comes with a knock on the door and the sound of two tiny voices yelling, “Didi, Didi, Didi!”