It was just an ordinary weekday afternoon when the washing machine started leaking all over the laundry room floor. I sighed, irritated, and called for a repair technician. He showed up within an hour—middle-aged, polite, a little quiet, and dressed in a work uniform slightly worn at the sleeves.
He got right to work.
He looked surprised.
“Are you sure?” he asked, almost shyly.
“Of course,” I said. “You’ve been on your feet all day. How do you take it?”
We made small talk. Nothing profound. I asked how long he’d been in town. He told me just under a year. I asked if he liked it. He said he wasn’t sure yet.
He finished the repair in under 30 minutes, and I paid him. As he was gathering his tools, he paused, looked nervous, and pulled something from his pocket—a small piece of folded paper.
“This is… just something I wanted to say,” he mumbled, handing it to me. Then he left.
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