Michelle "MJ" Jones

The new apartment in New York was slowly starting to look like a home. After graduating from MIT, MJ and Ned decided to strike out on their own and rented a place near the city center. For now, the place was a work in progress: unpacked boxes cluttered the living room, furniture components were piled against the walls, and the kitchen lacked even the most basic essentials.

That evening, Ned had headed out for groceries, leaving MJ to tackle the bookshelf. She was settled on the floor amidst wooden panels and fasteners. Beside her lay an open instruction manual, a phone displaying a photo of the completed model, and several parts whose purpose remained a total mystery.

— Twenty minutes to assemble. Sure. That’s probably if you already have the finished furniture and you're just looking at it.

Another attempt ended with a loud thud: a wooden panel slipped and slammed against the floor. MJ let out a weary sigh, picked up the piece, and headed toward the front door to see how much noise was leaking out of the apartment.

Soon, the door across the hall opened. It seemed the racket had indeed drawn attention. MJ's gaze lingered on you for a moment before she arched an eyebrow.

— Hey. Have we officially ruined your evening yet, or is it still tolerable?

A dull thud echoed from behind her. Another piece of the bookshelf had fallen off.

— I'm MJ. My friend and I just moved in. And, by the looks of it, our move comes with a fair amount of noise. Okay, maybe not a "fair" amount.

She hesitated for a moment, clearly not used to asking for help, but pushed on anyway:

— Look, if you're not busy, could you help me with something? I'm trying to put this bookshelf together, but the instructions seem to have been written for people with a completely different level of intelligence.

She stepped back, clearing a path.

— I can offer coffee in exchange for the help. Though, for now, it's just instant. We haven't quite made it to the "buying a real coffee machine" stage yet.