I spent almost a year renting a room from a woman I was convinced disliked me.

To this day, whenever I think about her, I feel a little guilty for how wrong I was.

When I first moved into her house, she seemed strict from the very beginning.

She was in her late seventies, lived alone, and rented out a few spare rooms to help cover expenses. The rent was affordable, the neighborhood was quiet, and I needed a place quickly after changing jobs.

At first, everything seemed normal.

Then the rules started.

The shower couldn’t last more than ten minutes.

The hallway light had to be turned off immediately after use.

The thermostat wasn’t to be touched without permission.

The refrigerator door couldn’t stay open “longer than necessary.”

Even the washing machine came with a list of instructions taped above it.

It wasn’t that the rules themselves were impossible. It was the constant monitoring that got to me.

Somehow, she always knew.

If I took a long shower, she’d mention it later.

If I left a lamp on, she’d knock on my door.

If I came home late, she’d ask questions.

I began to feel like I was being watched.

The other tenants seemed used to it.

“That’s just how she is,” one of them told me.

Maybe so, but it was exhausting.

Over time, I stopped trying to get to know her. I answered politely when spoken to and stayed out of her way whenever possible.

She rarely smiled.

Rarely shared personal stories.

Rarely showed much emotion at all.

If anything, she seemed determined to keep everyone at arm’s length.

Months passed.

I got a better job opportunity in another city and decided it was time to move.

The day I gave notice, she simply nodded.

No reaction.

No questions.

Just a short acknowledgment before walking away.

Part of me expected that.

After all, we had never exactly been close.

As moving day approached, I felt relieved.

I was looking forward to living somewhere that felt less restrictive. Somewhere I could relax without worrying about breaking an unwritten rule.

The morning I moved out was busy and chaotic.

Boxes covered the floor.

Friends helped carry furniture.

The moving truck was parked outside.

By late afternoon, only a few items remained.