**Diary Entry**

*29th March*

This morning was anything but ordinary—thanks to our well-meaning but rather misguided neighbours. It all started when they called the police, claiming, “There’s a man living with an underage girl here! Come quickly!”

My wife and I spent months after our wedding carefully searching for the right flat, eventually settling on this one with a mortgage. For weeks, I travelled back and forth alone, overseeing renovations and coordinating workers. She rarely came along, so it fell to me to get acquainted with our elderly neighbours across the hall—an elderly couple, pleasant enough. Since we didn’t know anyone else in the building but still wanted to celebrate moving in, we decided to invite them over.

The moment they sat down and met my wife, something shifted in their demeanour. I couldn’t quite place it, but their behaviour was… odd. Still, my wife—ever the distraction—drew me away from my unease with her soft kisses and warm hugs. They left in a hurry, though we couldn’t fathom why. We were too wrapped up in our happiness to dwell on it.

That was until we were jolted awake at dawn by a sharp knock at the door. I knew then our new life here wasn’t off to the smoothest start. A police officer stood on the doorstep, eyeing me with suspicion.

“Good morning, sir. I’m the local constable—here’s my identification. May I see your marriage certificate, please? Yours *and* your ‘wife’s’?”

Baffled, I had little choice but to rummage through boxes of unpacked belongings. Ten minutes later, I found it and handed it over. He scrutinised it, then my wife, twice, before raising a brow and muttering, “Right. That’s all I needed to know.”

“May I ask what this is about?”

“We received a report yesterday alleging an older man was living here with an underage girl—possibly not even sixteen yet.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. The irony was rich—my wife, in fact, is a year *older* than me! I’m 22; she’s 23. Petite, with a youthful face, she does look younger, especially without makeup and her hair tied back, as it was last night. As for me? Stress from flat-hunting and renovations has left me looking haggard, unshaven—more like a weary uncle than a newlywed.

Tonight, I’ll rest properly. And perhaps shave, so I don’t look like her dodgy older relative next time the neighbours decide to interfere.