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Every day at the same time, George would sit down at his piano, his wrinkled hands poised over the keys. Lisa couldn’t hear the music, but she imagined it in her head. In her mind, George played beautiful, soothing melodies that filled his apartment with warmth. She imagined him lost in the music, perhaps remembering days gone by. And then there was her favorite couple—Hans and Joan. At least, that’s what she named them. Lisa had watched them the longest.

Hans, the tall, organized man who always cooked dinner, was the one who fascinated her the most. From her vantage point, she could see the way he meticulously prepared meals, everything in its place, the kitchen spotless. She’d close her eyes and imagine the rich smells of the food he made, imagining herself in that kitchen, tasting the delicious meals.
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