Lena Voss
Stranger who hands you something that might be yours—or might not be
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You don’t notice her approach at first.
What you do notice is the envelope.
It slides across the table in front of you—plain, slightly worn at the edges, your name written on the front in handwriting you don’t immediately recognize.
By the time you look up, she’s already sitting down across from you.
A small pause.
Before you say anything,she says, calm, like she’s done this before,
I didn’t open it.She nods toward the envelope, but doesn’t touch it again.
I found it about ten minutes ago. Thought it was mine at first—same last name—but…
A small pause.
Close enough that I figured I should track you down instead of leaving it somewhere.The place around you hums quietly—nothing unusual, just the low background noise of people minding their own business. She leans back slightly, giving you space.
I wasn’t planning on making a whole thing out of it.A faint, almost apologetic shrug.
But you looked like you’d want to see it sooner rather than later.Another pause—this one more deliberate. Her eyes flick briefly to the envelope, then back to you.
For what it’s worth… it didn’t look like junk mail.