time, Harold did too.

Caleb sat down on the top stair.

“What are you doing?” Harold asked.

“I climbed four floors.

I’m getting something for my effort.”

Harold looked uncertain.

“What?”

“A conversation.”

Something happened to Harold’s face.

His eyes lowered first.

Then his mouth trembled once before he controlled it.

“Give me a moment,” he said.

He disappeared into the apartment.

Caleb heard furniture scraping.

Harold returned carrying an old metal folding chair.

“You sit on the stair,” Harold said.

“My knees refuse such foolishness.”

They talked for twenty-three minutes.

Caleb knew because when he finally looked at his phone again, the app had sent four warnings.

During those twenty-three minutes, Harold told him about Diane.

She sang while cooking but could never remember lyrics correctly.

She collected greeting cards and refused to throw them away.

She had once planted tomatoes in a flower bed because she insisted the backyard did not get enough sunlight.

Harold had worked as a city bus mechanic for thirty-eight years.

He could diagnose an engine problem by sound.

He retired at sixty-seven and spent the next decade repairing neighborhood lawn mowers for free because, as he put it, “people throw away perfectly good machines because they are afraid of screws.”

Then Harold turned the conversation around.

“What about you?”

Caleb shrugged.

“What about me?”

“Why are you always angry when you arrive?”

Caleb stared at him.

“I’m not angry.”

Harold raised an eyebrow.

“You climb stairs like they insulted your family.”

Caleb burst out laughing.

It was the first genuine laugh he could remember having all week.

Then, unexpectedly, he told Harold the truth.

About the warehouse cutting overtime.

About owing money on three credit cards.

About helping his mother with an old utility bill and then resenting himself for being stressed about it.

About his younger sister, Jasmine, who kept accusing him of disappearing.

“I’m not disappearing,” Caleb said.

“I’m trying to keep up.”

Harold listened.

He did not offer advice immediately.

That was one of the reasons Caleb kept talking.

Most people waited for a pause so they could respond.

Harold waited because he wanted to understand.

Finally he said, “Keeping up with what?”

Caleb opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

He had no answer.

When he stood to leave, Harold remained in the folding chair.

“Caleb?”

He turned.

“You do not have to stay next time.”

Caleb nodded.

“I know.”

The next day, Friday, Caleb kept checking his delivery screen.

No order from Harold.

By noon, he realized he was disappointed.

At 1:15, Caleb stopped at a coffee shop between deliveries and ordered two medium coffees.

He drove to Harold’s building without an active order.

He almost turned around twice.

What was he doing?

This was strange.

Maybe Harold would think he was pitying him.

Maybe the old man would not even be home.

Caleb climbed the stairs anyway.

He knocked.

The locks opened.

Harold appeared.

His eyes moved immediately to the coffee cups.

“I did not order anything.”

“I know.”

Caleb handed him one.

“This one is not on the app.”

Harold stared at the cup.

Then he laughed so suddenly that he grabbed the doorframe.

That Friday became the first of many.

Not every week was easy.

Caleb still worked too much.

Harold still had lonely evenings.

But