Hana sat across from me on a plastic stool, legs crossed, holding a spiral notebook.
Hana lived two doors down. Quiet. Kept her lawn neat. Waved sometimes when I took out the trash. We exchanged polite nods at the mailbox. I thought I knew her — the way you think you know a neighbor. Harmless. Maybe a little lonely.
No explanation. No anger. Just that number. -JBD-202- I Was Tied Up By My My Neighbor Hana
My second was turning my back to make tea.
It started with a knock. Tuesday evening, just after 8 p.m. Rain was coming down hard. Hana stood at my door, soaked through, asking to borrow a phone charger. Her voice shook — said her power had gone out, and she needed to call her mom. I didn’t think twice. I let her in. Hana sat across from me on a plastic
I don’t know what she’s looking for. Some secret I don’t even know I have. A confession I’ve never made. Maybe she just likes the quiet control. The way a person’s voice cracks when they realize they’re completely powerless.
She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t hit. She just asks questions. Endless questions. What keeps you up at night? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Who would miss you if you disappeared? Kept her lawn neat
Today, she asked me to write this. “Document your experience,” she said. “Be honest. For the record.”