Chapter 1 - The Advertisement
Lucas had never imagined he’d spend a whole year wiping paint off tiny hands and singing the alphabet song a dozen times a day. Yet here he was, sitting cross-legged on a brightly patterned rug in the kindergarten classroom, listening to a five-year-old proudly mispronounce the days of the week. He smiled, nodding encouragement, even as his mind drifted elsewhere.
The kids were sweet, of course, and the teachers kind enough, but the job had always been temporary—something to fill the gap between high school and what came next. What came next, he hoped, was university in the city two hours away, a place that shimmered in his imagination with independence and possibility.
When the last child was picked up that afternoon and the classroom returned to its quiet, toy-strewn state, Lucas stacked blocks back into bins, checked the paint lids, and wiped the tables. His hands moved automatically; his thoughts did not.
He pictured the train station, the tall buildings, the coffee shops he’d heard students crowded into. More than anything, he pictured a room of his own—messy with papers and notebooks, maybe a little plant on the windowsill, nobody knocking at his door to tell him dinner was ready.
But the picture always cracked, right in the middle, when the thought crept in: where would he sleep? Not just which building or street, but the real, secret question—how could he possibly live in a dorm when he couldn’t get through a night without protection?
The diapers were stacked in a neat pile at the back of his closet at home, hidden beneath extra blankets. His parents never said much, not anymore. They’d learned, painfully, that it wasn’t a phase he’d grow out of. Still, Lucas kept the details of his condition walled off from the rest of the world. High school had been hard enough without anyone knowing; in a dorm, with roommates and too many questions, it would be impossible.
That was why, every evening after work, he sat at the kitchen table with the newspaper spread in front of him, circling rental listings in the city. His parents hovered in the background, supportive but realistic. They couldn’t afford to help much. His dad’s hours had been cut at the factory, and his mom’s part-time job at the library barely covered groceries. University would be on Lucas: his savings from the kindergarten, whatever scholarships came through, and—hopefully—a miracle.
It was Thursday when the miracle appeared.
He had flipped through three pages of overpriced apartments, sighing at every three-digit rent, when his eyes snagged on something different.
Room for rent for serious student. You will become part of the family, but we have demands that may seem unreasonable and violate your privacy. Rent: 1 euro per month.
Lucas blinked. Read it again. And again.
A joke? A scam? Probably. Yet the words 1 euro per month glowed at him like a neon sign. He traced them with his finger, his pulse quickening.
He imagined handing over a single coin and walking into his own space. No more trying to split bills he couldn’t afford. No awkward explanations to a stranger about why he needed the bottom bunk. It felt too good to be true—and of course, that was exactly the problem.
The line about “violating your privacy” sat heavy in his chest. What did that mean? Cameras? Curfews? House rules so strict he’d feel like a prisoner?
But the ad hadn’t been tucked in the “joke” section. It was right there among the serious rentals, with a phone number scrawled at the bottom.
That night at dinner, his parents asked if he’d found anything.
“Not yet,” Lucas said quickly, folding the newspaper closed. He couldn’t explain—not until he knew what this was. Not until it made sense in his own head.
After dishes, after his mom settled into her knitting and his dad turned on the news, Lucas sat in his room, the folded ad burning a hole on his desk. He stared at the number. He picked up his phone, set it down again, and paced.
What if he called and it was some kind of trap? What if he didn’t call and missed his one chance to make university possible?
He thought about the kids at the kindergarten, their open laughter, their trust in him. He thought about how he’d been saving every paycheck, denying himself new clothes, outings with friends, anything extra, just to make this move possible. He thought about how small his town felt, how much bigger he wanted his life to be.
He dialed before he could change his mind.
The call was answered quickly. “Yes?” The voice was older, calm, almost formal.
“Uh, hi,” Lucas said, his throat dry. “My name is Lucas Andersen. I’m calling about the… the ad? The room for rent?”
There was a pause, just long enough to make him wonder if he’d made a mistake. Then the voice said, “Ah. Yes. You’re a student?”
“I will be. This fall. At the university.”
“Good. Serious students only.”
Lucas hesitated. “About the rent… is it really one euro?”
“That is correct.”
He gripped the phone tighter. “And when you say there are… demands…?”
Another pause. “They will be explained when we meet. If you are interested, you may come tomorrow evening. Six o’clock.”
Lucas’s mouth went dry again. “Uh—where?”
The man gave him an address in the city, not far from the university district. Lucas wrote it down, hand trembling.
“Do not be late,” the voice added. And then the line clicked dead.
Lucas sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the address. His heart thudded so loudly he thought his parents might hear it through the wall.
He looked at the ad again, then at the paper where he’d scribbled the details.
Maybe it was a terrible idea. Maybe he’d regret it instantly. But something in him—the same part that had been restless for a year, desperate for change—whispered that he had to go.
Tomorrow, at six, he would find out what kind of price came with a rent of one euro.