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“It doesn’t.”
“That’s what I told him.”
I smiled.
Mr. Collins sighed.
“He’s also claiming you’re harassing him.”
I nearly laughed.
“By sitting on my own balcony?”
“That’s what he says.”
I walked to my kitchen table.
Then I opened a folder.
Inside were photographs.
Dates.
Times.
A copy of the building rules.
And a printed statement from Mrs. Alvarez.
I handed the folder to him.
Mr. Collins looked through the pages.
His expression slowly changed.
“You’ve been documenting this?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
He looked at the photographs.
Then the timestamps.
Then the video stills.
“He actually throws them?”
“Yes.”
“Intentionally?”
I nodded.
“I asked him three times to stop.”
Mr. Collins was quiet.
Then he reached the final page.
It was a photograph of a tea bag sitting on the cushion of my chair.
The brown stain was clearly visible.
“Did you report this before?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I thought about it.
“Because I thought I could handle it myself.”
Mr. Collins closed the folder.
“I wish you’d come to me sooner.”
“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“You weren’t making a big deal.”
He stood.
“You were trying to solve it yourself.”
Before he left, he asked one more question.
“Do you still have the tea bags?”
“All of them.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You kept them?”
“Most of them.”
He smiled faintly.
“Don’t throw them away.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going upstairs.”
He walked toward the door.
“I think it’s time we have a conversation with your neighbor.”
The meeting happened the following afternoon.
Mr. Collins, me, and the man from 4B stood in the hallway.
His name was Derek.
I’d known his name for years.
But until then, I’d never actually spoken to him for more than a few minutes.
Derek folded his arms.
“This is ridiculous.”
Mr. Collins remained calm.
“You’ve been throwing used tea bags onto another resident’s balcony.”
“They’re just tea bags.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“They’re biodegradable.”
I almost laughed.
Mr. Collins didn’t.
“They’re still litter.”
Derek looked at me.
“She never complained about anyone else.”
“I didn’t complain because nobody else was throwing things onto my balcony.”
He shook his head.
“She has some personal problem with me.”
“No,” I said.
“I have a problem with things being thrown onto my property.”
Mr. Collins opened the folder.
“We have photographs and video.”
Derek’s face changed.
“You recorded me?”
“The camera records my balcony.”
“That’s creepy.”
“It doesn’t record inside your apartment.”
Mr. Collins interrupted.
“The footage is sufficient to establish what happened.”
Derek stared at him.
“So what?”
“So stop.”
There was silence.
Derek finally nodded.
“Fine.”
Mr. Collins closed the folder.
“Good.”
The meeting ended.
I thought the problem was solved.
For two days, nothing happened.
No tea bags.
No shouting.
No footsteps lingering above my balcony.
I started relaxing.
On the third morning, I woke up and realized I hadn’t heard the balcony door upstairs.
I smiled.
Maybe that was it.
Maybe everything really was finished.
At 8:30, there was a knock on my door.
It was Derek.
I opened it cautiously.
He was holding something.
A small cardboard box.
“What is that?”
He held it toward me.
“Open it.”
I hesitated.
Then I took it.
Inside was a new balcony cushion.
The same size as the one he had stained.
I looked up.
“What is this?”
He shrugged.
“For the chair.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I shouldn’t have laughed.”
That caught me off guard.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“My mother used to drink tea all day. When she passed, I started drinking it too.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I guess I got into this habit.”
He looked down the hallway.
“But that’s not an excuse.”
“No.”
“I thought you were being dramatic.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
He took a breath.
“I’m sorry.”
It sounded different this time.
Not like the first apology.
Not rushed.
Not embarrassed.
Not something he was saying because he wanted me to leave.
This one sounded like he had actually thought about it.
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded.
Then he turned around.
Before he left, I said, “Derek?”
He stopped.
“The screen isn’t going anywhere.”
He smiled.
“I figured.”
Then he walked upstairs.
For several weeks, everything was peaceful.
No tea bags.
No arguments.
No stains.
I replaced the old cushion with the one he had bought.
The balcony slowly returned to being my favorite place in the apartment.
I planted new flowers.
Hung a string of small lights.
Bought a little table.
And started eating breakfast outside again.
Then one Saturday morning, I heard something fall.
I froze.
A soft sound.
*Plop.*
I looked at the balcony floor.
A tea bag.
My first thought was Derek.
But then I noticed something.
It wasn’t wet.
It was completely dry.
I looked upward.
Nothing.
I picked it up.
There was a folded piece of paper attached to the string.
I unfolded it.
Three words were written on it.
“I’m sorry. Again.”
I looked toward the balcony above.
Derek was standing there.
He held up both hands.
“Not mine.”
I laughed.
“Then whose is it?”
He pointed toward the building across the courtyard.
I turned.
On the roof of the neighboring building, two workers were drinking tea.
One of them looked down.
Then quickly disappeared.
Derek called up.
“Hey!”
The worker leaned over.
Derek pointed at my balcony.
“Don’t throw things down here!”
The worker apologized.
I looked at Derek.
He looked at me.
And for the first time, we both laughed.
The whole ridiculous saga had somehow turned into something neither of us expected.
A week later, Mr. Collins organized a building meeting.
The subject wasn’t tea bags.
It was something bigger.
Trash.
Noise.
Common areas.
Balconies.
Small things people ignored because they didn’t want conflict.
