The washing machine leaked, so I called a technician.
He arrived quietly, fixed the problem in less than half an hour, and I paid him with the usual polite gratitude.
But when he was about to leave, he hesitated. His face reddened slightly as he handed me a small folded piece of paper.
Curious, I opened it after the door closed behind him.
It read:
“Thank you for treating me kindly. Most people just see me as someone who fixes things and rush me out the door. When you offered me tea and asked about my day, it reminded me of my late wife. She never let me leave the house without a warm drink. For a moment today, I felt seen again.
Here’s my number—if you ever need help again, or just someone who understands what it feels like to be alone.”