A single father was having tea alone when an older woman leaned in and whispered, “Pretend you’re my daughter’s fiancé.”

A single father was having tea alone when an older woman leaned in and whispered, “Pretend you’re my daughter’s fiancé.”

He admitted, a little shyly, that he had built a small shared library in the hallway of his building—a wooden box with a handwritten sign where neighbors could leave and take books.

“It’s probably silly,” he said.

“No,” Valeria replied. “It’s a form of faith.”

She held his gaze a moment longer than necessary.

Elena eventually stood to greet a few acquaintances, leaving them alone. The room remained filled with music and laughter, but around their table, something quieter formed—a kind of refuge.

Valeria lowered her voice.
“My mother sent me a very strange message before I walked in.”

Marco smiled faintly.
“What did it say?”

“‘There’s a kind man at table nine. I asked him for a favor before explaining everything. I think you should really get to know him.’”

Marco exhaled softly.

Valeria looked at him directly.
“What was the favor?”

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