“I’ll stop. Seriously.”
He sounded sincere.
So sincere, in fact, that I went downstairs feeling slightly guilty for making a fuss.
At seven the next morning, another tea bag landed on my balcony.
I heard it hit the concrete.
Still, I waited.
Three weeks.
People later asked why I didn’t immediately complain again.
Because shared buildings run on social mathematics.
You have to live beside these people for years.
Small arguments can turn hallways into hostile territory.
So I wanted to believe Daniel was simply careless.
Then one January morning, I sat outside with coffee and a book.
A tea bag dropped directly onto the pale cushion of my balcony chair.
I watched it land.
Watched the liquid soak into the fabric.
I waited to see whether the stain would spread.
It did.
That evening, I tried cleaning the cushion cover.
The mark remained.
So I went upstairs again.
This conversation was different.
Daniel opened the door and leaned casually against the frame.
“You’re still throwing tea bags over your balcony,” I said.
He shrugged.
“It’s a tea bag.”
“It stains. I already lost a towel. Now a cushion.”
He looked at me with complete indifference.
“You live below me.”
I stared at him.
“That’s how apartment buildings work,” he added.
Then he smiled.
Not kindly.
“You should be glad it’s only tea.”
“What?”
“I’m just saying. Could be worse.”
And then he closed the door.
I stood in the hallway for almost a minute.
That was the moment I finally understood him.
He had decided I was harmless.
The polite older woman downstairs.
The neighbor who never caused trouble.
The one who would keep asking nicely until she finally gave up.
And, more importantly, I realized he wanted me angry.
He wanted me pounding on his door.
Raising my voice.
Giving him a story he could later tell about the unstable woman downstairs who lost her mind over tea bags.
So I didn’t.
I returned to my apartment.
Made myself tea—which felt appropriate—and sat at my kitchen table.
I decided to give him one final morning.
If nothing came over the balcony, I would let it go.
At 7:04 the next day, another tea bag landed beside my plants.
I finished my coffee.
Then I knew exactly what I was going to do.
Before retirement, I had spent twenty-two years as a records manager for a law firm.
