He frowned.

“Why?”

“Because waiting for the right moment to start living can become the most expensive waiting of all.”

He didn’t answer.

But I noticed later that the pictures went up.

Spring arrived.

No more tea bags.

Daniel began saying hello in the lift.

Then small conversations followed.

He started helping Mrs. Okafor with her groceries regularly.

In April, I found a package outside my door.

Inside was a new cushion cover.

Grey-blue.

Not an exact match for my chair.

But close.

There was a note.

I still owe you a towel.

I’m working on it.

D.

I smiled.

Then I put the cushion cover on the chair.

Daniel’s mother died in June.

The next morning, he knocked on my door.

Mrs. Okafor had apparently told him he could.

I made tea.

He sat at the same kitchen table where I had once spread photographs, lease clauses, and complaint