If you live in a city apartment built before 1960, you probably know the exact square footage of your living room. I do. It is 3.6 meters by 4.2 meters. For two years that room held a sofa, a coffee table, and a lot of hope that overnight guests would just book a hotel. Then my mother announced she was visiting for two weeks, and the home renovation I had been avoiding became a necessity. The problem was not the paint or the floors. The problem was that I needed a space that could be a living room at noon and a bedroom at midnight without looking like a furniture showroom. I had to solve the overnight guest equation without sacrificing my daily life.

The first mistake I made was buying a cheap sofa bed from an online marketplace. It arrived in a box that was surprisingly small, which should have been the first red flag. After assembly, the pull-out sofa consisted of a metal frame covered in fabric that snagged on every pair of jeans I owned.