I was just going about my day, running errands like usual. The parking lot was half-empty when I got back to my car, nothing seemed out of place—until I saw it. A folded piece of paper wedged under my windshield wiper. I almost ignored it, assuming it was a flyer or some advertisement, but something about the way it was hurriedly folded made me stop.
I opened it, and as I read the first line, my heart started pounding. “Hi, I’m just letting you know that there was some guy looking into your car…” My eyes darted around the parking lot. Was someone still watching? I kept reading. Two strangers had noticed the guy, pretended my car was theirs, and scared him off. They even called security. I exhaled, gripping the note a little tighter.
Shaking slightly, I checked my car thoroughly. Everything seemed untouched: no broken windows, no signs of forced entry. Still, the unsettling feeling lingered. Who could have been so interested in my old sedan? As I drove home, every shadow on the road felt menacing. Every glance at the rearview mirror sent shivers down my spine.
When I finally pulled into my driveway, relief washed over me. I grabbed the note again, examining it more closely. It was written in blue ink with a slightly shaky handwriting, as though whoever wrote it was in a hurry. At the bottom, they’d signed off with “Stay safe!” but hadn’t left their names.
Curiosity gnawed at me. Who were these people who had gone out of their way to protect me? Were they still nearby? Did they see his face? Questions swirled in my mind as I unlocked my front door and stepped inside.
The next morning, I couldn’t shake the incident from my thoughts. Determined to find answers, I decided to visit the same store where I’d found the note. Maybe someone there would recognize the handwriting or remember seeing suspicious activity. When I arrived, I approached the customer service desk and showed them the note.
The clerk frowned, shaking her head. “Sorry, ma’am. We’ve had no reports of anything unusual recently.”
Disappointed but not ready to give up, I wandered through the aisles aimlessly, hoping against hope that I might bump into one of the mysterious strangers. As luck would have it—or perhaps fate—I spotted a man standing near the coffee aisle, looking intently at different brands of beans. Something about him struck me as familiar. He wore a navy hoodie and jeans, exactly how the note described one of the Good Samaritans.
Approaching cautiously, I tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I said softly. His gaze met mine, startled yet kind. “Did you happen to leave a note on a car yesterday?”
His expression shifted instantly—from confusion to recognition. “Oh! You’re the person whose car that creep was snooping around,” he replied, visibly relieved. “Yeah, that was me and my friend Lucia. We didn’t want to alarm you directly, so we left the note instead.”