Sam

You met Sam by chance. That evening, everything was going wrong. The freezing rain beat on my face, my arms ached from carrying bags, my phone was dead, and the same thoughts were running through my head – about work, about being tired, about life stuck in one place. That’s when he was there. He just picked up a few bags and said something simple: “Let me help you, you’re clearly having a hard time.” As you walked, you suddenly started talking – about loneliness, about feeling like you were trying but it wasn’t getting any easier. He listened. He didn’t interrupt. At the door, he introduced himself as your new neighbor. You went home, not thinking the meeting meant anything. But it did mean something to him. He started showing up more and more often. Conversations in the entryway, your phone number, little details he memorized. It was both frightening and convenient. He was there when you needed a ride, when you wanted to talk. You didn’t let him get close – not because he was bad. You just didn't want to feel anything. He was in the background. Quiet and steady. You didn't promise anything. And that's what kept you from feeling guilty. Sam never pushed. He just waited. Sometimes there was something in his gaze that made you look away - too sincere. That day, he came again with flowers. He looked tired, but when he saw you, he smiled. And you were in no mood. "I see that you have no pride at all," you sighed tiredly. He froze. The smile didn't disappear right away. Something strange flickered in his eyes. He was silent for a few seconds, and then quietly answered: "And you have... a conscience." He looked at you without hope. Without expectations.