Chapter 2: Apartment Surprise
Lucia kicked off her sneakers at the door and let out a long sigh. Brooklyn smelled of roasted chestnuts, damp asphalt from the evening drizzle, and the faint aroma of someone's takeout noodles drifting from the apartment above. She leaned against the door for a moment, taking it all in. Life was… messy. In a good way, mostly. But it was also exhausting, the way her 26-year-old self felt like she had to juggle ten things at once and somehow still appear put together.
Her apartment was modest—cozy but with that unmistakable Brooklyn charm. Exposed brick walls, a small bay window looking out over the courtyard, and a collection of succulents that she swore she hadn't killed yet. On any other night, it might have felt like home. Tonight, it felt… lonely.
Valentine's Day lingered in her thoughts, and she shivered slightly at the memory of the street fair, chocolate strawberry in hand, and that awkward yet undeniably magnetic encounter with a stranger. She had replayed the moment over and over: the way he smiled, the casual tilt of his head, and those dark, curious eyes that seemed to notice things she didn't even admit noticing herself.
"Stop overthinking it, Luce," she muttered to herself. "It was one strawberry, one street fair, and a weirdly charming stranger. That's it."
She dropped her bag onto the kitchen counter, the faint rustle of receipts and notebooks spilling out. She didn't bother to pick them up. Her mind was too busy spinning, replaying the laughter, the accidental touches, and that fleeting moment when she had felt lighter than she had in weeks.
Her cat, Marbles, twined around her legs, purring like a tiny motor. "You get it, right, Marbs? People suck sometimes, but maybe… maybe there's hope. Or maybe not." She scratched behind his ears and sat down on the couch, letting the weight of her day sink in.
Lucia's thoughts were interrupted by a soft sound—a sliding of paper along the floor. She froze, her cat hissing softly as a small piece of paper came to a stop just beyond the threshold of her living room. Her brow furrowed.
"What the…?" She bent down and picked it up.
On it, in neat handwriting, were the words:
"Even small steps matter."
Lucia blinked. Then blinked again. Then laughed. "What?" she said aloud, holding it up as if it might magically explain itself.
Her first thought was that it was some kind of prank—maybe a neighbor with too much free time, or one of the kids from upstairs trying to be mysterious. But no—this handwriting wasn't familiar at all. It was deliberate, gentle, kind. Almost… personal.
Marbles pawed at the paper. "Yes, yes, I see it too, buddy," she whispered, sitting back on the couch. She stared at the words as if they contained some secret code meant just for her.
"Even small steps matter." She repeated it softly, tasting the words aloud. There was something comforting about it. Encouraging. Hopeful. Something she hadn't realized she needed today.
She placed the note on the coffee table and circled the room with her gaze. Nothing had changed—her apartment looked exactly the same. No one else was there. And yet, she felt a strange warmth spread in her chest, like someone had lit a tiny candle inside her, just to remind her she wasn't entirely alone.
Her mind wandered back to the street fair, to that stranger—Jin, she reminded herself. She didn't even know his name for sure, but the memory of his smile felt tethered to this note in a way that made her heart skip. Could it be him? Was this some kind of elaborate… continuation of a conversation they hadn't even had?
She shook her head. "No. Stop it, Lucia. You don't know him. It's probably… someone else. A neighbor. A… prankster. A secret admirer maybe?"
The words "secret admirer" made her laugh, despite herself. She grabbed her phone and typed a quick note to Nia.
You're not going to believe this. I found a mysterious note under my door. It says: 'Even small steps matter.' I have no idea who left it.
She hit send and immediately felt silly. This was the kind of thing that sounded like a bad rom-com plotline, not real life. And yet, she couldn't shake the small thrill of curiosity that danced through her.
The rest of the evening passed in a quiet blur. She made tea, scrolled through emails, and tried to focus on work she had promised to do the next day. But every so often, her eyes would drift toward the note on the coffee table, and she would smile, feeling a strange sense of connection to… someone she hadn't even met properly yet.
The next morning, she woke to find another note slipped under her door. This time it read:
"One step at a time. You've got this."
Lucia stared at it, Marbles hopping onto the counter to inspect it as well. She couldn't help it—her heart did that little flip again. Someone was paying attention. Someone was trying to reach out in the smallest, quietest way. And it made her feel… seen.
By now, she was convinced. The notes weren't random. They weren't a prank. Someone in her building had noticed her. And strangely, just knowing that someone was thinking of her—without even needing her to do anything—made her feel lighter than she had in weeks.
Throughout the day, she found herself scanning the hallways of her building a little more closely. Was it the guy from the street fair? Jin. She had to remind herself of his name. She wasn't even sure he remembered hers yet. But the thought of him—the way he had laughed, the playful tilt of his head, the kindness in his eyes—kept creeping into her mind.
That evening, she checked the note again, turning it over in her hands as she sat by her window, looking out over the courtyard. There was a faint aroma of coffee from below, someone laughing in the hall, and the distant hum of Brooklyn life. And she realized, with a strange mixture of anxiety and hope, that she wanted to know more.
She picked up her notebook and scribbled a quick question:
Who are you?
No answer came, of course. But it felt good just to ask. Just to reach out.
Over the next few days, the notes kept coming. Sometimes they were encouragements about work. Sometimes little jokes. One even had a tiny doodle of a grape with a smiley face and the words:
"You make my heart skip a grape!"
Lucia laughed aloud at that one. Marbles pawed at the paper again, approvingly.
Each note became a small ritual. She looked forward to finding them. She found herself smiling more, feeling lighter. Even in the middle of a stressful day at her design job, she would sneak a peek at her desk, wondering if a new note had arrived.
And in the quiet moments, she began to think about him—Jin. What if it was him? What if he was somehow continuing that playful, gentle connection they had started at the street fair? The idea made her heart beat faster. She was aware, maybe too aware, that this could be dangerous. That she could be building hope on a few carefully chosen words.
But she didn't care.
Because the notes reminded her of something she had forgotten—something that had been buried under bills, deadlines, and the general chaos of being twenty-something in New York City:
Even small steps mattered.
And maybe… just maybe… she was ready to take one.