Kemi had never felt so small in a new space. The apartment smelled faintly of fresh paint and the lingering aroma of someone else's cooking. Tunde showed her around with a quiet smile, pointing out cupboards, the balcony, the laundry area. She nodded politely, pretending she was not nervous.
The first week passed in routine. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Kemi noticed small things she had never thought mattered: which way Tunde folded the towels, how he arranged the kitchen, how he corrected her when she poured coffee too quickly.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't yelling. It was just… control. Gentle, measured, almost invisible.
On Friday evening, her younger sister called to check in. Kemi laughed softly, a sound she realized she hadn't made in days. "I'm fine," she said, even though she wasn't. She set the phone down and noticed her reflection in the window: someone slightly smaller than herself, someone already learning to shrink.
And just like that, the apartment began to teach her new rules.