When Samira buys a secondhand car at a dealership, she thinks it a victory because it was something she had done all by herself. But the next morning, the mysterious previous owner of the car calls her, claiming that he left something “alive” under the seat of the car. Will Samira meet him or uncover the secret package by herself?
When I first bought my car, it was supposed to be a small victory. I had left my corporate job to take time off to write my collection of short stories. So, I didn’t want to splurge my savings until something big came my way financially.
It was nothing fancy, just a used Toyota Corolla from the local dealership. The thrill of owning it was enough to make me overlook any thoughts about its previous owner. Whoever they were, they were in my past, and I was cruising straight into my future.
Or so I thought.
But then came that random phone call which changed everything.
It was early, around 7 a.m., and I was in the middle of making my morning coffee when my phone buzzed with an unknown number.
Normally, I’d ignore it, but something about early morning and late-night unknown calls made me answer. I didn’t know if someone needed me.
“Hello?” I said, yawning.
“Hi, is this the new owner of the Toyota Corolla?” a man asked, anxiety in his voice.
“Yes, this is her. Who’s speaking?” I asked, suddenly feeling uneasy.
He took a deep breath.
“Oh, thank goodness! I’m so sorry to bother you, but I need your help. I was the previous owner of the car, and I left something under the seat of the car when I gave it in yesterday morning. You picked it up yesterday, yes?”
“Yes,” I replied, confused about what he was getting at.
“Okay. Good,” he paused. “I need to get my hands on what I left behind. It’s really important. It’s urgent, really.”
What on earth could be so important that he would track me down like this? Was the dealership even allowed to give out personal information?
“What did you leave?” I asked, trying to stay calm.
“It’s something… alive,” he stammered. “Please, ma’am, I need to come and get it as soon as possible. I promise you, I’ll explain when I see you.”
I remained silent for a moment.
Alive? The word echoed loudly in my mind. Was this man serious? What alive thing could possibly be in the car? My mind raced between a baby to a dog to even a package of narcotics that he was brushing off as something alive.
But I knew that I would have noticed something like that.
“Do you want to meet me somewhere or give me your address?” he continued.
I should have probably said no to all of the above. But there was something about him and the panic in his voice that made me hesitate to say no.
“Okay,” I finally said, my voice more firm than I felt. “Come over to my neighborhood. There’s a park not too far away from where I live. I’ll meet you there. I’ll send the address to this number.”
“That’s perfect,” he said, sighing in relief. “Don’t worry, it’s contained for now.”
I hung up and stared at my phone.
“What are you doing, Samira?” I asked myself. “Are you really going to meet a random person?”
But, what would be alive under my seat? My thoughts darted to worse-case scenarios again. What if it was a dangerous animal?
I had no idea what to expect, and that’s what made me nervous.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing next to the Corolla in the cool morning air, waiting for the mysterious stranger to show up.
The neighborhood was still quiet, and I imagined everyone in their homes slowly waking up or making breakfast for their families.
Finally, a man pulled up in an old pickup truck, just as he had texted me to say he would. His eyes scanned the area nervously before landing on me.
“I’m Ben,” he said. “Thank you for letting me come.”
He was younger than I imagined, and probably in his late twenties like myself, with dark hair that looked like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.
There was something endearing about his disheveled appearance, though I could tell he was genuinely worried.
Stop it, Samira, I told myself. This isn’t one of your romantic comedy stories. This isn’t a meet-cute.
“No problem,” I replied. “I’m Samira. So, what exactly did you leave under the seat?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he opened the driver’s door and dropped to his knees beside the car and reached under the seat. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, Ben pulled out a small, sealed box with tiny air holes punched into the top. My stomach did a flip as I imagined a tarantula inside the box.
“I’m really sorry to bother you like this,” he said, standing up and holding the box.
“What’s in there?” I asked, almost amused.
“I have a pet gecko at home, and I feed it live insects every day. Yesterday, I stopped at the pet store to pick up some food, including mealworms and roaches, but I must have left the box under the seat when I was unloading the car.”
It took a moment for his words to register with me.
“You left a box of live insects under the seat?” I asked.
“Not by choice,” he replied sheepishly. “I was late to hand over the car as well. So the moment I unloaded everything else at home, I rushed over to the dealership to leave the car… for you.”
“You’re lucky that they didn’t escape,” I said.
Suddenly, a laugh bubbled up inside me before I could stop it, and once it started, it was hard to stop.
He looked at me, confused for a second, before a grin spread across his face.
“I know, it’s ridiculous, right?” he said. “I was so freaked out that I couldn’t even sleep. I kept imagining them crawling around your car, and I just…”
“My goodness,” I exclaimed. “That would have been quite the surprise.”
The thought of driving around with a box full of escaped bugs lurking somewhere under the seat was both horrifying and hilarious.
“I’m really sorry, Samira,” he said, his grin fading into something more genuine. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t know what else to do. The gecko, Samson, is actually my little brother’s pet. And as wacky as it is, that kid loves it.”
“No judgment here,” I replied. “I had a pet frog for a solid two weeks as a kid until my mother found it bouncing around my room.”
That was enough to set us both off again. We laughed until tears ran down our faces.
“Let me make it up to you,” he blurted out suddenly. “How about I take you out for a coffee? As an apology for the… bug thing?”
I stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden offer. I hadn’t expected any of this. But at the same time, I felt like I was in one of the romance stories that I wrote.
There was just something about the way he asked, something genuine and a little bit hopeful.
“I… um,” I started to say. “Sure, why not?”
“Great!” he said, his face lighting up. “I know a place not too far away from here. Would you like to go now?”
I laughed at his enthusiasm.
“How about you take me to a car wash to wash away any bugs and my paranoia, and then we can grab a coffee?” I asked, half-joking, half-serious.
“Actually, that’s the least I can do,” he said. “Come on.”
Ben put the box of insects in his truck and locked the door. I threw my keys at him, which he caught perfectly.
As we drove to the car wash, Ben told me all about his little brother, who was living with him.
“There’s a big age gap between us,” he said. “But there’s a really good school two roads away from me. So he’s enrolled there.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said, watching his hands on the steering wheel. “I wish I had a younger sibling to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
When we got to the car wash, Ben ensured that we would take the full package.
“Give her a good wash, guys,” he said.
We went for coffee while the car was being attended to.
And I wondered what was going to happen next…
What would you have done?
Man Receives an Anonymous Package on the 1st Anniversary of His Wife’s Death—He Bursts Into Tears Upon Opening It
On the first anniversary of his wife’s passing, Samuel answered an unexpected knock at the door. The anonymous package he received held a mysterious blue scarf and a heartfelt note from his late wife that would reveal a deeply personal secret.
Samuel sat at the coffee table, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long gone cold. The morning sun filtered through the blinds, painting soft lines on the floor.
A serious man drinking coffee | Source: Midjourney
Before him lay a photograph of him and Stephanie on their wedding day. Her smile lit up the picture, just as it had lit up his life.
He picked up the photo and stared at it, his fingers brushing the frame. “It’s been a year, Steph,” he whispered. “Feels like yesterday. Feels like forever.”
A middle-aged couple on their wedding day | Source: Midjourney
The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Samuel sighed, setting the picture back down. The silence had become his constant companion. It wasn’t comforting. It was loud, echoing every memory and missed moment.
He leaned back, rubbing his temples. “I’m trying to move on,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “But it’s hard, Steph. So damn hard.”
A sad man looking at the photo | Source: Pexels
Just then, a knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts.
“Who on earth…” he mumbled, pushing himself up from the chair. He shuffled toward the door, his heart heavy with reluctance.
When he opened it, a young delivery man stood there, holding a plain brown package.
“Samuel?” the man asked, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” Samuel replied, his brow furrowing.
A delivery person | Source: Freepik
“This is for you. Anonymous sender.”
Samuel hesitated, then reached out to take the package. “Thanks.”
The delivery man gave a polite nod. “Have a good day, sir.”
Samuel closed the door and stood there for a moment, staring at the package. It wasn’t large, but it was heavy enough to pique his curiosity.
A man looking at a package in his hands | Source: Midjourney
“What is this?” he muttered, carrying it back to the table. He sat down and ran his fingers over the paper, his heart picking up speed. Carefully, he peeled away the wrapping.
Inside was a long, soft, blue scarf. Samuel held it up, letting it unfold. The fabric felt warm against his skin, and the intricate patterns caught his eye.
“What in the world…” he murmured.
A blue scarf in a box | Source: Midjourney
As he examined it, a small envelope fell out. His hands shook as he picked it up. He knew that handwriting.
“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He opened the envelope and pulled out a letter.
“My dear Sam,
When we married, I wanted to make something special for you, something that would grow as our love did. Every time you told me you loved me, I knitted a row of a scarf. I wanted you to know that with every word, my heart grew, too.”
A woman knitting a scarf | Source: Midjourney
“What… how long is this?” Samuel muttered to himself.
Setting the letter aside, he gently picked up the scarf, stretching it out to its full length. He began to count the rows, his voice barely above a whisper.
“One… two… three…”
A man with a blue scar | Source: Midjourney
The rhythm of the numbers steadied him, pulling him into a trance. He counted every row, his mind filling with memories of the times he had told Stephanie he loved her. Over coffee in the morning. Before falling asleep at night. During a quiet walk in the park. In moments of laughter, and in moments of tears.
“…fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…”
A happy couple in their living room | Source: Midjourney
The numbers climbed higher, and with each one, Samuel felt his chest tighten. His fingers brushed over the stitches as he continued counting.
When he finally reached the end, he sat back, his voice shaking. “A thousand… over a thousand rows.”
He pressed the scarf against his chest, his heart aching. Each row represented a moment between them, a declaration of love that she had captured forever in the fabric.
A man clutching a scarf in his hands | Source: Midjourney
But then, he noticed something strange. Near one end, the stitches changed. They were tighter, smaller, as though rushed. Samuel squinted, leaning closer. Woven into the fabric in faint white thread were the words:
“Look at the back of my drawer in our bedroom.”
Samuel’s heart pounded. His breath quickened. He looked toward the hallway, where their bedroom waited.
A serious man looking to his side | Source: Midjourney
“Steph,” he whispered again, gripping the scarf tightly.
And then he stood, the scarf draped over his arm, and began to walk.
Samuel stopped just outside the bedroom door. His hand touched the doorknob, his heart pounding like a drum.
A half-open door with a glass doorknob | Source: Pexels
The room smelled faintly of lavender, her favorite scent. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating everything she had left behind. Samuel’s eyes settled on the bedside table, her drawer.
He moved toward it slowly, his fingers trembling as he reached out. “Back of the drawer,” he murmured, repeating her words.
A man looking though his bedroom drawer | Source: Midjourney
The drawer slid open with a soft creak. It was filled with little things—her favorite lotion, an old paperback novel, a small box of jewelry. But as he reached toward the back, his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar.
It was an envelope. His name was written on it in Stephanie’s elegant handwriting.
Samuel sat down on the bed, holding the envelope in his hands. He hesitated, feeling the weight of whatever lay inside. Finally, he opened it.
A man reading a letter on his bed | Source: Midjourney
“Sam,
I know you’re wondering why I had to leave you so soon. Life can be cruel like that. But there’s something you need to know—something I couldn’t tell you before I left.
I was pregnant.
We were going to have a baby, Sam.”
A serious woman writing a letter | Source: Midjourney
Samuel’s hands shook as he read the words. He stopped and pressed the letter to his chest, his tears spilling freely.
“Oh, Steph,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
He continued reading.
A man reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
“I found out just weeks before my diagnosis. The doctors said the treatments would harm the baby, but I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone. So, I chose the treatments. I chose to fight, for us. But in the end, it wasn’t enough.
I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to carry that burden. But I hope you can forgive me and know that my choice came from love. You gave me the happiest years of my life, and I wanted to give us a chance at more.”
A sad woman rereading her letter | Source: Midjourney
Samuel sat on the edge of the bed, the scarf still draped across his lap. He stared at Stephanie’s letter, her words echoing in his mind.
I was pregnant.
A devastated man holding a letter | Source: Midjourney
The revelation hit him like a wave, pulling him under. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his face. The grief swelled, but this time it wasn’t the hollow ache he had carried for a year. It was sharper, layered with love and loss, raw and undeniable.
“She chose me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She always chose me.”
A crying middle-aged man holding a photo | Source: Pexels
The scarf, now folded neatly in his lap, seemed heavier than before. Samuel ran his fingers over it, feeling the texture, the time, the care.
“You never stopped loving me, not even at the end,” he murmured.
A man with a blue scarf on his lap | Source: Midjourney
The weight of her sacrifice and the life they could have had together pressed down on him, but beneath it was a flicker of something else. Gratitude. Gratitude for the love they had shared, for the moments she had fought to give him.
Samuel stood, clutching the scarf to his chest. He walked to the window and looked out at the world beyond the glass. The sunlight seemed a little brighter, the air a little lighter.
A man in front of his window | Source: Midjourney
He unfolded the scarf and wrapped it around his neck, the soft fabric brushing against his skin. It felt like a hug, a reminder that Stephanie was still with him in some way.
“I’ll keep my promise, Steph,” he said quietly. “I’ll live. I’ll love. I’ll find joy again for both of us.”
The words felt heavy, but they also felt right.
A smiling man in a blue scarf | Source: Midjourney
Samuel turned back to the bedroom. He picked up the letter and carefully tucked it back into the envelope. He placed it in the drawer where he’d found it, next to her favorite book. It wasn’t a farewell—it was a way of keeping her close while letting himself move forward.
Back in the living room, he glanced at the photograph on the table. Her wide smile and her warm eyes were urging him on.
A smiling woman in her garden | Source: Midjourney
Samuel picked up the picture frame and held it for a moment. “Thank you, Steph,” he whispered. “For everything.”
The house felt different now. The silence wasn’t as oppressive; it was calmer, almost comforting. Samuel knew there would still be hard days ahead, moments when the loss would feel fresh and sharp. But for the first time in a year, he felt something else: the possibility of healing.
A smiling man in his living room | Source: Midjourney
He walked to the front door, opening it wide. The crisp morning air greeted him, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. He stepped outside, the scarf snug around his neck, and looked up at the sky.
“I love you, Steph,” he said softly, his voice carried away by the wind.
And as he stood there, bathed in the sunlight, Samuel felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.
A smiling man standing on his porch | Source: Midjourney
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