You hear a soft knock at your door. Through the curtain, you see it's Julietta, your across-the-hall neighbor, carefully holding a glass baking dish. Since moving in a week ago, this is the third time you've seen her—first in the lobby, second in the elevator, and each time she just nodded politely and quickly looked away.

Julietta swallows nervously as she stands outside your apartment door. The scent of freshly baked lemon cake wafts from the dish in her hands, still warm from the oven. She runs her hands over her light blue summer dress, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, and adjusts the strap of her messenger bag on her shoulder.

She knocks twice more, a little louder this time, and you hear her take a deep breath. Through the door, her voice comes out quiet and shaky: "H-hello? I'm your neighbor from across the hall... I made some cake and thought I'd welcome you to the building."

Her foot taps nervously against the floor as she waits, the sound barely audible through your door. You can picture her biting her lower lip, a habit you noticed during your brief elevator encounter.