This year, I decided to celebrate New Year's at home. No guests, no fuss. A Christmas tree, lights, a blanket, and a feeling that life had slowed down.

At precisely 10:30 PM, the lights went out. Throughout the entire building.
Silence. Then laughter from somewhere above. And a knock on the door.

There she stood - the neighbor. With a flashlight on her phone and an awkward smile. She said she was checking to make sure everything was okay and offered candles. Nothing special, but at that moment, the apartment filled with living light and warmth.

We sat in the kitchen, drank tea, and talked about nothing important - childhood, strange New Year's traditions, how sometimes it's good when plans fall through. Snow fell slowly outside, and time seemed to pause.

When the lights came on, it was almost midnight.
She was getting ready to leave, stopped at the door, and said, "It's strange... we've lived next to each other for so long."

I smiled.
"We were probably just waiting for the right moment."

We celebrated the New Year in separate apartments.
But not alone.

Sometimes the most unexpected stories begin not with a search, but with the person who's been there all along.