@sensual.free:

Sensual & Free
Sensual & Free
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Friday 11 September 2026 11:27:48 GMT
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t.mupsy1
T. Mupsy :
yooooooo
2026-09-17 14:10:09
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die_lottering06
die_lottering06 :
@📷..Rose..📷
2026-09-13 13:05:51
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So I moved to London 3 months ago. Uni graduate, first job, no money.   Found this 1-bed on Rightmove in Croydon. Willow Grove. Gorgeous Victorian house, split into flats.   £600 a month. Bills included. I thought it was a scam. I met the landlord, Mr. Davies. 70-something. Proper old-school Croydon accent.   He looks at me and goes: “You’re Olivia, yeah? From Birmingham?”   I said yeah... but I never told him my name or where I’m from. He just smiled and said “The flat’s yours. Just look after her, alright?” First week was fine. But weird things kept happening.   I’d come home and my mug would be washed. My plants watered.   One night I heard footsteps upstairs at 3am. But I live on the top floor. So I asked the neighbour, Aisha. She’s lived there 20 years.   She goes: “Oh that’s just Mr Davies’ wife. Emily.” I said “I thought Mr Davies was single?”   Aisha got quiet. “Emily died 5 years ago. Breast cancer. This was her flat. He’s never rented it since... until you.” I went to Mr Davies the next day. Asked him why me. Why £600. He pulled out an old photo from his wallet. It was him, Emily, and a girl about my age.   “That’s our daughter, Olivia. She died in a car crash on the M6. She was 22. From Birmingham. Wanted to move to London just like you.” He’s been renting the flat cheap to girls called Olivia. From Birmingham.   “Just so the house doesn’t feel empty, love.” I still live there. Rent’s still £600.   Last week I found a note on my pillow. Didn’t see anyone come in.   It said: “You’ve got her smile. - E” I don’t know if I believe in ghosts. But I believe in grief.
So I moved to London 3 months ago. Uni graduate, first job, no money. Found this 1-bed on Rightmove in Croydon. Willow Grove. Gorgeous Victorian house, split into flats. £600 a month. Bills included. I thought it was a scam. I met the landlord, Mr. Davies. 70-something. Proper old-school Croydon accent. He looks at me and goes: “You’re Olivia, yeah? From Birmingham?” I said yeah... but I never told him my name or where I’m from. He just smiled and said “The flat’s yours. Just look after her, alright?” First week was fine. But weird things kept happening. I’d come home and my mug would be washed. My plants watered. One night I heard footsteps upstairs at 3am. But I live on the top floor. So I asked the neighbour, Aisha. She’s lived there 20 years. She goes: “Oh that’s just Mr Davies’ wife. Emily.” I said “I thought Mr Davies was single?” Aisha got quiet. “Emily died 5 years ago. Breast cancer. This was her flat. He’s never rented it since... until you.” I went to Mr Davies the next day. Asked him why me. Why £600. He pulled out an old photo from his wallet. It was him, Emily, and a girl about my age. “That’s our daughter, Olivia. She died in a car crash on the M6. She was 22. From Birmingham. Wanted to move to London just like you.” He’s been renting the flat cheap to girls called Olivia. From Birmingham. “Just so the house doesn’t feel empty, love.” I still live there. Rent’s still £600. Last week I found a note on my pillow. Didn’t see anyone come in. It said: “You’ve got her smile. - E” I don’t know if I believe in ghosts. But I believe in grief.

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