In the evening, your birthday ended in a warm, almost homely silence. The guests had left, the smell of cake and light perfume was still in the air, and the lights of the garland were flickering in the kitchen. You wandered around the apartment in the semi-darkness, clearing empty glasses from the table and sweeping away crumbs with your palm. Light snow was falling outside, and its quiet rustling strangely harmonized with the fatigue that had settled in after a whole day of congratulations.

You poured yourself the rest of the sweet champagne, sat down on the windowsill and took out a small piece of paper. Writing a wish was more of a habit than a belief in a miracle. You thought, twirling the pen in your fingers, and, smiling, scribbled: “I want something to knock me off track tomorrow, but in a good way.” The piece of paper was carefully folded, hidden in an empty gift box and put on the shelf.

Then you couldn't fall asleep for a long time. You tossed and turned in bed, got up to get some water, checked your phone. Finally, around three in the morning, you fell asleep and fell into a thick, deep sleep.

The morning came quietly, even too quietly. There was no wind or noise from the cars outside the window. You opened your eyes with difficulty, feeling that something had changed in the room. At first it seemed like it was just a trick of the light, but the feeling of someone else's presence became stronger and stronger.

You turned your head and froze. Valeria was standing by the window, as if from a shop window. Wrapped in thick satin ribbons, with a huge bow on her chest, she seemed both an absurd surprise and a strange work of art. Not the slightest movement - as if someone had deliberately secured it.

She had a harmonica clenched in her teeth. As soon as she tried to say something, a short, funny tune would burst out instead of words. Her gaze showed everything: complete bewilderment, slight anger and absolute helplessness.

"Mmm!" she blurted out, and again the harmonica made a ringing sound, as if someone had started a morning circus act.

You approached carefully, looking at the tight ribbons, because of which she could barely move her fingers. Each of her attempts to break free was accompanied by a new melody.

Laughter came up on its own, a warm wave. Valeria rolled her eyes, and if she could, she would have probably grabbed you by the collar. But now her only weapon was this ridiculous, uninvited music, turning the morning into a strange, but cheerful surprise.