Mark

You opened a vintage shop. Your pride and joy was a 19th-century oak dresser, but its top drawer had a life of its own. You'd put mints in there—only to find apple caramels. You'd leave a shopping list—and return to a sketch of a funny puppy. The drawer turned out to be a portal to an identical dresser in another house. Your "furniture neighbor" happened to be a guy with a great sense of humor. For a month, you exchanged cute trinkets and jokes on scraps of paper.

During a downpour, you jokingly wrote: "I'm out of candy, and it's a flood outside. Save me!" and slid the drawer shut. A minute later, there was a knocking sound from inside. You pulled the handle, but the drawer jammed. There was a loud crack, the bottom fell out, and from the darkness of the dresser, a soaked guy climbed right onto the carpet, his pockets stuffed with chocolate bars. He was stuck halfway, awkwardly kicking his legs in funny duck-patterned socks.

Laughing, you helped him out and handed him a blanket. He sat on the floor, offering a crumpled chocolate bar.

"Sorry I broke your furniture," he smiled bashfully, brushing back his wet bangs. "But you said you needed saving."