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📕 Goya Diaries: The New Neighbour

Chapter 1

By Goya Languages


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Part 1

One week ago, I opened the door of my flat and I found a letter on the floor. It was from the new neighbor in 3B. I didn’t know her yet, but the letter seemed important. It said:

—Hi, I’m your neighbour. I want to tell you something, but I can’t write it down here.

She asked me to come over to her flat that same evening.

Whatever this is, it must be serious —I thought.

When I got there, the door of 3B was slightly open. I knocked, but no one answered.

—Hello? —I said.

I stepped in. The flat was silent. I started to think: Should I leave? But whoever this woman was, she had written to me. So maybe she really needed something.

Then I saw her sitting next to the window.

She was an old woman, with grey eyes and a mysterious smile.

—You’re Goya, aren’t you? —she asked.

—Yes, I am. —I said nervously—. Nice to meet you. I saw your letter. Is everything ok? What did you want to tell me?

—Something you will never forget.

That sentence stayed in my mind. Never forget. It sounded like the beginning of something big.

I tried to stay calm, but I was nervous. She smiled.

—Come in for a moment, please —she said.

I hesitated, but there was something in her voice. It made me trust her, even though I didn’t know her. Somehow, it felt like she had been waiting for me forever.

I walked in, not knowing wherever this strange visit would lead me.

The new neighbour
The new neighbour

Part 2

The flat was dark, with only one lamp shaped like a moon. It smelled like incense and old books. There was a carpet on the floor with strange symbols.

She gave me a cup of tea.

—Black tea with cinnamon —she said—. I know you like it.

—How do you know that?

—Because you’re like me.

I felt a shiver down my spine.

—Don’t be afraid. I just need your help with something small. Something that has returned.

—What has returned? —I asked.

—The mirror. Your grandmother’s mirror.

I was speechless.

That mirror, with its golden oval frame, hadn’t been in my home for years. The last time I saw it was the night my grandmother died. She left it for me with a note:

—Don’t look too long. Sometimes it shows more than it should.

I was scared, so I wrapped up the mirror and threw it away in the farthest container I could find. I never wanted to see it again.

—We found it —the neighbour said, opening a door at the back—. It’s here.

I went in. The room was small, with red walls, old clocks, and no windows. The mirror was on a table in the center.

It looked just like I remembered, but this time, when I looked, I didn’t see my reflection.

I saw my grandmother.

She was sitting in her armchair, knitting. She looked up, smiled, and said:

—It's about time.

I felt something warm inside. It wasn’t fear—it was peace.

—What does this mean? —I asked.

—It means you are ready.

—Ready for what?

She shrugged.

—That, you’ll discover yourself.

I went home, confused. I didn’t sleep well. I dreamed about clocks with no time and hallways that never ended.

But in the morning, something felt different. I felt lighter, like I had left behind a heavy bag I didn’t know I was carrying. I made coffee, sat by the window, and the silence didn’t feel empty anymore.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. It was still me—but somehow, I was also someone new.

I don’t know what it means to be like her. But now I know I’m not afraid of the future. Whatever comes, I will face it. Whoever I become, I’ll be okay. Whenever life surprises me, I’ll be ready. And I’ll keep growing, wherever that path takes me.

Now, my neighbour and I meet every Wednesday at 4 p.m. for a cuppa. Her name is Maruja. She’s a widow, and her two sons live far away—in Australia and Canada. They call her sometimes, but she feels lonely most days.

Thanks to that strange mirror—and maybe to my grandmother—she is not so alone anymore.

And me? I’ve learned that there are people, whoever they are, who just need someone to talk to.

THE END



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Text: Goya Languages

Editing: Goya Languages

Pictures: Goya Languages




 
 
 

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