The feeling of anger bubbled in my stomach as I deleted yet another shitty paragraph that didn't make any sense. My hands clenched and unclenched as I pushed myself away from my desk before standing up and pacing around my apartment as music, and a tone-deaf singing voice, blared through the wall I shared with my neighbour.

If I had known my neighbour was a noisy, heavy footed karaoke singer, I never would have moved in. It was a Friday night, almost midnight, and the woman next door was belting out Taylor Swift songs as if it were the last time she'd ever sing again.

Except I knew it wasn't because she did this every single God damn night.

I tried everything. I moved my desk to the other side of my apartment further away from our shared wall, bought noise cancelling headphones, a white noise machine. And over it all, I could still hear her off key yodelling.

She was the reason I knew all the words to Bad Blood by T-Swiz. She was the reason I couldn't concentrate on drawing up this contract for a client that should have been completed this morning. Thank the lord that Mr Kelly was happy for me to email it to him over the weekend, most of my other clients would have thrown a fit.

I hastily snatched my keys off the kitchen counter and made a beeline for the door which I shut behind me. It only took a few strides until I was at apartment 307 and I rapped my knuckles against the light grey door.

The singing ceased and the volume on the stereo was turned down slightly, a string of mumbling sounded from the other side carried through the door, but I couldn't make out what she was saying. I heard the deadbolt unchain and the door swung open. On the other side stood a girl, no, a woman. The only reason I knew she was an adult is that I was positive she lived alone, but she looked way too young to do so. Her fiery ginger hair was pulled up in a messy bun with wild curls spilling out, poking in all different directions. She wore a red t-shirt and grey sweats that were caked in a rainbow of different colours of paint. So not only was she a shit singer, she was also horrifically uncoordinated with a paintbrush.

I peered over her head and caught a glimpse of the chaos behind her. There were at least twenty canvases of varying sizes and stages of completion in her apartment.

"Hi. Can I help you?" She beamed up at me, electric blue eyes shining as she grinned.

"Yeah, keep it down." I snapped. Something in her bright, bubbly demeanour at this time when most reasonable people would be settling down for the night pissed me off. I stormed off back in the direction of my apartment.

"Nice to meet you too, neighbour. The name's Blossom, by the way." Her sing-song voice called behind me as I pushed the door open.

I stopped to roll my eyes, turning back to face her. Was she seriously trying to start a conversation? "Of course it is." I spat sarcastically before entering my apartment and slamming the door behind me.