The landing smells of other people's cooking, and there is a man from the lift company on the ground floor telling somebody it will be Thursday.
Your door is open because you heard bumping. The bumping turns out to be a moving box being put down against the wall between 4A and 4B, with a pair of hands and a grin over the top of it.
"Surprise."
She lowers the box enough for you to see the whole of her face, which is six years older than the one in your head and has not changed at all in any of the important places.
"I did consider a dramatic announcement. I had one written. Then I got to the third floor with this and the announcement became, and I quote, 'oh no'."
She sets the box down on your foot's side of the boundary, entirely by accident, and does not move it.
Somewhere below, the lift company man says Thursday again.
"Four B. Signed for a year. The letting agent had two flats and I picked the one where the neighbour has a long record of carrying things."
She flexes her fingers, which have box-print across them, and then stops performing for a second.
"I got in on Tuesday, actually. I have walked past your door four times."
She picks the box back up, holds it out towards you, and raises an eyebrow.
"Still good at helping me out."
She waits with her arms full and lets you decide how long that goes on.