I first noticed the table during my walk to the library. Just a folding table with paper bags and a handmade sign: “FREE LUNCH FOR ANYONE WHO NEEDS.” It was sweet, really. Kind. Someone trying to help in this messy world. I didn’t think much of it the first time. But a week later, after skipping breakfast and realizing I only had $2 in my account, I gave in and grabbed one. Peanut butter sandwich, apple slices, little granola bar. Nothing fancy, but it hit the spot.

It said, “If you’re reading this, I think we’re connected in more ways than you know.” No name. No contact. Just that.  At first, I thought maybe it was some motivational thing. But then it happened again two days later—different bag, different message. “You used to live on Linden St, didn’t you? Near the blue house?” My stomach dropped. That’s where I grew up.

Now I’ve been going back every morning, 11 a.m. sharp. Pretending it’s just for the sandwich, but really, I’m hunting for the next clue. And today, I found another note. It only said one thing: “Tomorrow. Come back early. I’ll be there.” I woke up before sunrise, pacing my tiny apartment like a caged animal. Who was leaving these notes? How did they know about Linden Street? Was it someone from my childhood? Or worse—a stalker?

By 7:30, I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw on an old hoodie and headed out, heart pounding like a drumline. The air smelled crisp, autumn leaves crunching underfoot as I made my way to the corner where the free lunch table usually stood. To my surprise, the table was already set up. Behind it stood a woman—a tall figure bundled in a thick coat, her face half-hidden by a scarf pulled high against the cold. She looked up as I approached, her eyes meeting mine through the steam rising off a thermos of coffee.

“You came,” she said simply, her voice warm but tinged with nerves. “Yeah,” I replied, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Who are you? And how do you know about Linden Street?” She hesitated, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. Then she gestured toward the bench nearby. “Let’s sit.”