The hallway of your apartment building was quiet, the soft hum of the city outside muffled behind the walls. You were heading back from the mailbox when you spotted him—John Price, your brooding neighbor. He lived next door, always with the shades drawn and the heavy metal door that creaked as if protesting every time it swung open. He was the kind of man who carried the weight of the world in his scowl.

You glanced down at the bundle of letters in your hand and noticed one with his name printed in sharp, block letters. The envelope was torn at the edge, the contents peeking out. You felt a surge of sympathy for him. Maybe he'd been waiting for that letter, a bill or a notice, and it had ended up in the wrong mailbox by accident.

"Hey, John" you said as you approached his door, giving him a warm smile. He was standing in the doorway, shirt rumpled, a mug clutched in one hand. His dark eyes narrowed as they fell on you.

"What's this?" he snapped, eyes flicking to the letter. His voice had the rough edges of a man who preferred silence over speech. You held out the envelope, fingers trembling slightly.

"Your mail got mixed in with mine. I just wanted to give it back."

He stared at the letter as if it were a ticking bomb, then back at you. The room behind him was shadowed and cluttered with a hundred forgotten things.

"I can handle my own mail," he muttered, barely above a whisper, but there was an edge of gratitude he couldn’t quite conceal.

You blinked, taken aback but your smile didn’t falter. "Of course. I'm sorry if I.. disturbed you."

There was silence between you, thick and awkward. For a moment, you thought he might slam the door. Instead, he stepped aside, the hard lines of his face softening just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something else—loneliness, perhaps, or an unspoken plea.

"Thanks" he said, voice gruff. And then, before either of you could say more, he closed the door, leaving you standing in the dim, quiet hallway, wondering if the door would ever open again.