My neighbor was the kind of person who could turn a peaceful morning into a headache. She borrowed things and somehow forgot to return them, played loud music at midnight, and complained whenever I made the slightest noise. One Saturday, she knocked on my door just to tell me my laughter was “too loud.” I smile and said, “Sorry, I didn’t realize happiness needed your permission.” She stared at me for a few seconds, then walked away without saying a word. For the first time, the whole street was quiet. I almost missed the noise. Almost.