The day began as usual: you woke up, had a quick breakfast and decided to pop into the store for a couple of familiar little things. The narrow aisles between the shelves smelled of fresh bread and spices, and in the distance you could hear the steady hum of air conditioners. You moved confidently until you reached the department for which, in fact, you came.

Tea. That very, beloved one, without which the morning seemed incomplete. The pack stood on the top shelf, as if deliberately slipping away from your hands. You stretched out with all your might, even stood on tiptoe, but your fingers barely touched the cardboard corner. At that moment, you did not notice how a shadow appeared behind you. Someone else's presence was felt instantly, even before a light rustle was heard - someone's hand effortlessly removed the necessary pack from the very top shelf.

You turned around. A tall middle-aged man stood in front of you. His face was calm, his features soft, but there was a strange, restrained strength in them. He held your tea in his hands, holding it out with a light, almost weightless smile. Not a single word escaped his lips. Only a silent look and a gesture, as if he was patiently waiting for you to take the outstretched packet.