The drilling started early every morning, and eventually she checked the planning records.

Amelia’s neighbour began building an extension next door.

At first it felt temporary.

Scaffolding went up.

Materials arrived.

The garden fence shook slightly as the foundations were dug.

She told herself it was normal.

People renovate their homes.

But the work stretched into months.

Amelia worked from home, often wearing headphones to block out the noise.

Meetings were interrupted by bursts of drilling and hammering.

When they passed each other by the bins, her neighbour smiled and said it would soon be finished.

Amelia smiled back.

She had already searched the council planning records.

Twice.

Then a third time.

She couldn’t find any approval for the extension.

One evening, after another long day of noise, she filled in an online form.

Anonymous.

Just an enquiry about the project.

A week later, a letter arrived at the neighbour’s house.

The work paused.

Later it resumed, but the extension was smaller than originally planned.

Set back slightly from the boundary.

The drilling stopped soon after.

They still exchange greetings.

Christmas cards.

Occasional borrowed tools.

But Amelia sometimes notices the thin layer of distance that now sits between them.

The extension remains.

And so does the quiet knowledge of the form she submitted one evening.

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Confessions podcast | short human stories | reflective storytelling | Simple Stories Project