his Is How I Won a Prank War My Neighbor and I Had Going for the past Year
It started off innocently enough. Selene parked her car in the wrong parking spot, fueling a prank war with Paul, the real owner of the parking spot. As the months went by, the pair continued their prank war, but Selen started to wonder about the future of these seemingly innocent practical jokes. She took matters into her own hands and asked Paul out for dinner, under the guise of someone else. Will it be the ultimate prank or something more?
It all began with a parking mishap. It was just one innocent mistake that spiraled into a year-long prank war with my neighbor, Paul.
An apartment building parking lot | Source: Unsplash
One evening, I accidentally parked in Paul’s parking spot in our apartment building’s lot. It was late, I was exhausted, and I just wanted to crawl into bed.
I didn’t think much of it until the next morning when I was on my way to the office. There, on my car, on an empty takeaway cup, a note was scrawled in messy handwriting.
A woman sleeping in bed | Source: Pexels
Thanks for ruining my day.
“Oh, crap,” I said to myself when I sat in the car. I needed to make amends.
A woman sitting in a car | Source: Pexels
The following morning, I left a warm cup of coffee on Paul’s car roof with a note that read:
Sorry for the mix-up. I hope this makes up for it.
A person holding a cup of coffee | Source: Pexels
If you’re wondering, Paul and I didn’t know each other. We just lived in the same apartment block and knew everyone’s names and door numbers.
A few days later, I found a bill from a car-washing service under my windshield wiper. It seemed that Paul didn’t notice the coffee that I left and spilled it all over his car when he drove off.
A car in a car wash | Source: Pexels
I refused to pay the bill, and thus, the little war began.
“I think that you and this mysterious Paul are either going to fall in love or end up despising each other,” my friend Daphne said at work.
A smiling woman holding a folder | Source: Pexels
“Probably the latter,” I said. “It was all fine until he gave me a bill.”
“Selene,” she said knowingly, “I’m telling you, this is just the beginning.”
The next day, I left my work phone number on his car.
Call me regarding the payment.
A piece of paper on a car | Source: Midjourney
Paul called me later that evening.
“Really? You thought that leaving coffee on the roof of a car was a good idea?” he asked, going straight into it.
“How was I supposed to know that you’d drive off without looking? Besides, it was a peace offering!”
A man using a phone | Source: Unsplash
“More like a disaster,” he said. “It was all over my window. Pay the car wash bill, please.”
“I’m not paying for it,” I said, hanging up.
After that, the pranks escalated quickly.
Spilled coffee in the air | Source: Pexels
“I told you,” Daphne said when she came home with me one evening. “It’s going to get more intense. You need to listen to me. Trust me on this, you and this guy are going to get under each other’s skin.”
“I don’t know about that, Daph,” I said, dishing out the curry we had bought for dinner.
Bowls of curry and rice | Source: Unsplash
“But you’re having fun?” she asked, tearing into a piece of bread.
“I am!” I said. “Mainly because it’s nothing serious.”
Flatbread on a board | Source: Pexels
One day, I found my car doors wrapped in plastic wrap.
The next week, I retaliated by covering Paul’s car in sticky notes, each one asking him to fix his parking.
A person tearing through plastic wrap | Source: Pexels
“If it rains tonight,” Paul said, immediately calling me after seeing the sticky notes, “you’ll have a mushy mess of paper to clean up.”
“I think you’ll figure it out for yourself,” I said, hiding behind my curtain.
A car covered in sticky notes | Source: Midjourney
I had to admit, I was attracted to him. I didn’t know if Paul knew who I was, but it was easier for me to watch him from my apartment. I had gotten used to watching him wash his car.
It turned out that it was comforting. There was a sense of intimacy that we had built up.
A person hiding behind blinds | Source: Unsplash
After months of back-and-forth pranks, ranging from balloons tied onto car handles and window wipers, to fake parking tickets, I decided that it was time to end the war.
“But you need a grand finale,” Daphne said as we sat in our office, trying to work through month-end reports.
A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels
“Like what?” I asked, typing away at my keyboard.
“You’re into him, right?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“I think so,” I said. “But I don’t know much about him.”
A woman drinking coffee | Source: Pexels
“Then get to know him,” my friend pressed on. “There’s something there; if not, this would have ended a long time ago.”
“Fine,” I said. “But you write the note. He knows my handwriting now.”
We intended to write a note from a secret admirer.
A person writing a note | Source: Pexels
“She can just be someone from your apartment,” Daphne said. “And it’s not like you and Paul have even interacted in person, Selene. To be honest, I don’t know how you’ve managed to stay anonymous for so long.”
“It’s the thrill of it,” I said.
A smiling woman | Source: Unsplash
Early the next morning, I left the note that Daphne had written on Paul’s car.
Hey, I saw you leaving your car and couldn’t help but notice how handsome you are. Let’s have dinner?
I added my personal number that he wouldn’t recognize at the bottom.
A folded piece of paper | Source: Midjourney
To my surprise, Paul called me later that morning.
“Selene, you’ll never guess what happened!” he said excitedly. “Some woman left me a note on my car.”
“Really?” I asked, feigning surprise. “What did it say?”
A woman on the phone | Source: Pexels
“She said that I was handsome and she wanted to have dinner. She left her number, too. So, I’m going to text her and go.”
Paul took the bait and texted me. We set up a date, and I, still pretending to be someone else, agreed to meet him at a local restaurant.
A table at a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
I was already seated, suddenly nervous. We had been at this for so long; what if everything blew up in my face?
What if I was living in a romantic comedy and Paul actually couldn’t stand me?
Almost ready to leave, Paul walked into the restaurant.
A man in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
“Hey, you’re here! You look familiar,” he said. “But I suppose I have seen you around the building.”
He spoke quickly, as though he was just as nervous.
“I’m sure that’s exactly it,” I said, smiling.
A smiling man | Source: Pexels
“Your voice reminds me of my neighbor, Selene. I’m sure you’ve seen us pranking each other recently,” he chuckled, his eyes glazing over as if lost in a memory.
“What’s that been like?” I asked.
A smiling woman at a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
“Well, Daphne,” he said, as I had introduced myself over text, “it’s been hilarious. It’s been the best few months of my life.”
“It sounds like she’s grown on you,” I said, smiling.
“She’s feisty, all right,” he said, ordering himself a whiskey.
A man holding a glass of whiskey | Source: Pexels
The rest of the evening went by smoothly, but the more Paul spoke, the more I found myself genuinely enjoying his company. He was charming, funny, and surprisingly sweet.
By the time our meals arrived, I couldn’t keep the truth from him any longer.
Plates of food at a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
“Paul,” I said, picking up my cocktail, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What’s that?” he asked, looking me in the eye.
“I haven’t been very honest about this date,” I said slowly. “I’m Selene.”
A cocktail on a table | Source: Pexels
Paul’s jaw dropped.
“Wait, really?” he asked. “Why did you want to meet like this?”
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “Call it insecurity? Daphne is my best friend; I asked her to write the note, and I used her name. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have deceived you.”
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
“No, no,” he said, a large smile forming on his face. “I’ve never had this much fun with anyone. I’m glad we got to meet. Finally.”
The rest of the evening went much smoother, knowing that we had something in common. It was something to bond over. And more than that, there was chemistry between us. It wasn’t just me.
“I’m glad we did this,” Paul said as we went our separate ways in the parking lot. “It needed to happen.”
An empty parking lot | Source: Pexels
“And now, we’re here,” I said, taking his hand, suddenly feeling brave.
I don’t know where our relationship will go or what it will become, but I do know that I’ve taken the first step toward something.
What would you have done?
A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
During my grandfather’s funeral, a stranger gave me a note — I couldn’t help but laugh after reading it because Grandpa had played a trick on us
At Grandpa’s funeral, 18-year-old Dahlia feels isolated as her family fumes over the pitiful $1 inheritance. But when a stranger slips her a secret note, Dahlia is pulled into a mystery only she can solve.
I stood by the graveside, hands clenched in the pockets of my too-small black dress, listening to the priest’s droning voice blend with the rustle of the wind.
This was the saddest day of my life, but everyone else in the family seemed more concerned with glaring at each other than mourning Grandpa.
I could feel their bitterness lingering in the chilly October air, thick like syrup. One dollar each. That’s all Grandpa left us in his will, and they were furious. But me? I wasn’t angry. Just… hollow.
Grandpa wasn’t supposed to be gone. He was the only person who ever saw me, not the mess-up or the spare kid nobody paid attention to, but me. He let me in when no one else cared.
I stared down at the flowers resting on his coffin. I’d brought him a red rose, and it stood out among the white daisies everyone else had placed on the casket.
“One dollar,” Aunt Nancy hissed from behind me. “One damn dollar! That man was loaded, and this is what we get?”
Uncle Vic let out a bitter laugh. “Right? I swear he did it on purpose, the spiteful old man.”
“Typical Dad,” Mom muttered, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “He always played favorites, and Dahlia here was his little pet. Bet she got something we don’t know about.”
Aunt Nancy’s eyes cut toward me, sharp as glass. “What did he leave you, Dahlia? Anything? Don’t act like you didn’t get something.”
I stiffened. “I got the same as all of you.”
Mom’s fingers tightened over my shoulder. “Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice. “You were always with him. Maybe he told you something… think hard, Dahlia. You owe it to your family to share whatever he gave you.”
Memories came rushing back of Grandpa’s goofy stories about long-lost treasure and the butterscotch candies he always kept in his coat pocket.
Sometimes, he’d wink at me and say, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure. Real treasure!” But it was just a game, a joke between us.
I shook my head and turned my gaze back to the coffin. “What Grandpa gave me was his love, his stories, and a place that felt more like home than my actual home. Those things were worth more than money, and there’s no way I can—”
“Nobody cares about any of that!” Mom snapped. “Think, girl! What happened to all of his money?”
I shrugged. I truly didn’t know the answer to her question and didn’t care. Grandpa was gone. He was my confidant, my safe place, my friend. I’d lost the most important person in the world, but all they cared about was slapping a price tag on his death.
“She knows something,” Vic muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
Their voices twisted together, accusing, scheming — like they could squeeze secrets out of me if they tried hard enough. But I had no secrets that could earn them more money.
The second they realized there’d be no fortune, they turned away from the grave and stormed off. I could still hear them bickering as they walked away, lashing out at each other like vultures. It made me sick.
“You must be Dahlia.”
I looked up to see a woman, maybe in her 60s, with kind eyes and a worn leather bag slung over her shoulder. Her smile was soft and secretive, like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.
“I was a friend of your grandpa’s,” she said, leaning in as if we were co-conspirators. “He asked me to give you this.”
Before I could respond, she slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand and whispered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family.”
Her presence felt surreal, almost dreamlike, and before I could say anything, she was gone, swallowed by the crowd of mourners. My heart pounded in my chest as I unfolded the note.
111 locker — Southern Railway Station.
For a second, I stood frozen, the words blurring in front of me. Then it hit me: Grandpa’s “treasure.” A laugh bubbled up from my throat, inappropriate and wild, but I couldn’t help it. He wasn’t joking after all.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The note was tucked under my pillow like a secret. Grandpa’s voice echoed in my mind, playful yet certain: “Locker number 111… There’s treasure in there, kiddo!”
A weight settled on my chest, something between grief and hope. What if this wasn’t just some wild goose chase? What if Grandpa had really left something for me, hidden away where no one else could reach?
The thought twisted around in my mind until I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what was in that locker.
I called a cab the next morning. It was the first thing I did after I woke up. As I tiptoed past the kitchen, I could hear Mom muttering on the phone about Grandpa’s will, probably trying to squeeze sympathy or cash out of anyone who would listen.
I clenched my jaw and slipped out the door, the chilly morning air hitting my skin like a slap.
The ride to Southern Railway Station felt like the longest 20 minutes of my life.
My knee bounced with nervous energy as the cab wound through narrow streets, past graffiti-covered walls, and empty coffee shops just starting to open. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn’t say a word.
When we finally pulled up at the station, I stepped out and asked him to wait for me. I clutched the note tightly as I entered the train station.
The station smelled like diesel and stale popcorn. People rushed past me in every direction — commuters, travelers, strangers with places to go.
I hesitated at the entrance, suddenly feeling small and out of place. But then Grandpa’s voice floated back into my mind, steady and reassuring: “Real treasure, kiddo.”
I took a deep breath and headed toward the lockers and I could hear my heart pounding. Rows of metal boxes lined the wall, each one looking identical: gray, dented, and slightly rusty.
My eyes scanned the numbers until I found number 111.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note. The key was taped to the back. With trembling fingers, I peeled it off and slid it into the lock.
For a second, it jammed, and I panicked. But then — click! The lock turned, and the door swung open.
Inside was a duffel bag. It was old, faded, and heavy. My hands shook as I pulled it out and unzipped it.
The bag was full of cash. Bundles upon bundles of it!
I gasped, my mind reeling. It couldn’t be real, could it? I reached in and pulled out a stack, flipping through crisp hundred-dollar bills. There had to be at least $150,000 in there.
And tucked inside the bag was another note, written in Grandpa’s messy scrawl:
For my beloved granddaughter, everything I saved is now yours. Take it and live free, kiddo. The rest of the family may not see your worth, but I’ve always believed in you.
Tears blurred my vision, and I hugged the note to my chest, a knot forming in my throat. This wasn’t just money. It was freedom — a way out.
Grandpa always knew how badly I needed to escape this family. And now, he’d given me exactly what I needed and tricked everyone else in the process!
I zipped the bag shut, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the station, my heart pounding in tune with my footsteps.
The early morning sun was just starting to peek through the clouds, casting everything in a soft, golden light. For the first time in years, I felt… light.
During the cab ride back, I stared out the window, watching the city come to life. I had options now. No more suffocating family dinners, no more being ignored or treated like an afterthought, no more being the family scapegoat.
I could leave. I could build something new.
The thought scared me as much as it excited me, but Grandpa’s voice echoed in the back of my mind: “Live free, kiddo.”
As the cab pulled up to my house, I made my decision. I wasn’t staying. Not another minute!
I didn’t even bother going inside. I pulled out my phone, booked a ticket to anywhere, and told the driver to head straight to the airport.
With the duffel bag in my lap and Grandpa’s note tucked safely in my pocket, I smiled for the first time in days.
I was free. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what that meant.
Leave a Reply