Page 6 of The Valentine Agenda

Hannah was almost at the door to her studio apartment when she heard the rustle of paper bags and a quiet "Aiyah" from around the corner. She found Mrs. Chen in the hallway, surrounded by scattered groceries, a jar of honey slowly rolling toward the elevator.

"Mrs. Chen!" Hannah hurried to catch the jar. "Let me help you with those."

"Hannah dear." Mrs. Chen's face creased into a smile that made her eyes disappear. "These old hands aren't as reliable as they used to be."

Together they gathered the spilled items—bok choy, oranges, a package of dried mushrooms. Hannah noticed the grocery bags were from the expensive market six blocks away.

"You shouldn't have walked so far for groceries," Hannah said, following Mrs. Chen into her apartment. "I could have picked these up for you."

"Walking is good for old bones." Mrs. Chen moved through her kitchen with the grace of someone who'd occupied the same space for decades. "And how else would I see what happens in the neighborhood? Like that new couple moving in on the third floor. Or young Mr. Park rushing out this morning, checking his phone like it holds all life's answers."

Hannah felt the warmth that crept up her neck at the mere mention of his name.

She'd also noticed him rushing out this morning. She'd seen him check his phone with a slight furrow between his brows. Not that she'd memorized his expressions. Not that she kept track of what each tiny gesture meant, collecting them like secrets she had no right to know.

Mrs. Chen filled her kettle with practiced movements. "Sit, sit." She gestured to one of the kitchen chairs, the kettle already starting to whisper on the stove.

Hannah settled into the chair, surrounded by the familiar scents of jasmine tea and subtle incense. The kitchen was small but immaculate, decorated with photographs of what must have been three or four generations of Mrs. Chen's family.

"He seems very focused," Hannah offered carefully. "On his career, I mean."

"Focused, yes. Like looking through a telescope—seeing very far, but only in one direction." Mrs. Chen poured tea intodelicate cups that Hannah knew were only used for guests. "Work is good, my mother would say, but a life needs balance. Like a good cup of tea needs both bitter and sweet."

Hannah wrapped her hands around the warm cup, watching the leaves unfurl.

"He holds doors for people sometimes," Hannah found herself saying, then blushed at how quickly she'd jumped to defend him.

Mrs. Chen's knowing smile made Hannah's blush deepen. "Ah, you notice such things? Good eyes, like your good heart. But be careful, dear one. Some people are like my tea—they need time to show their true flavor. And some..." She gestured to the honey jar Hannah had rescued. "Some need more than sweetness to change their nature."

A question formed in Hannah's mind, but before she could voice it, Mrs. Chen stood and began packing leftovers into a container.

"Drop this soup off to Mr. Thompson across the hall. I can tell his arthritis is bothering him today. And Hannah?" She paused, fixing Hannah with a gentle but knowing look. "Perhaps tomorrow morning you could find a better reason to be in the lobby than dusting the plants, yes?"

Hannah accepted the container of soup, her cheeks burning. "The plants really do get dusty," she mumbled.

"So do dreams, dear. So do dreams." Mrs. Chen patted her arm. "Now go, before the soup gets cold."

Hannah left with the soup and a strange feeling that Mrs. Chen had seen right through her.

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Hannah was locking her mailbox when she heard the familiar click of expensive shoes against marble. Her heart did that silly little skip it always did, the one she'd been trying to train it out of for months now.

The reflection in the brass showed James Park striding through the lobby, his charcoal suit impeccably tailored, his dark hair perfectly styled. Today he'd gone with the blue tie—the one that made his eyes shine in the morning light.

Not that she'd memorized his entire rotation of ties like some kind of unhinged stalker. Absolutely not.

"Morning," Hannah murmured, more out of habit than expectation. As usual, James was too focused on his phone to look up, his fingers flying across the screen as he pushed through the revolving door. She knew the exact moment he'd hit send on his email because his shoulders always relaxed slightly, like he was already conquering the day before it began.

Then he disappeared into the rush of downtown traffic, leaving behind only the faint scent of his cologne—something expensive and subtle that she definitely hadn't looked up online after catching a whiff in the elevator last month.

Mr Rodriguez from 3B shuffled past, collecting his morning paper. "I hope you're not dusting that plant,mija," he said, patting Hannah's arm. "The super doesn't pay you to keep this place spotless."

"I'm not—" Hannah started to explain, then smiled instead. How could she explain that these quiet moments before work, tidying spaces that would be messy again by noon, made her feel like she belonged somewhere? That in a building full of important people rushing to important places, these small acts of service gave her purpose?

She checked her watch—time to head to her actual job. Her third-graders wouldn't care if her shoes cost a month's rent or if her bag was last season's clearance find. They only cared that Ms. Miller listened when they talked about their weekend adventures and helped them sound out difficult words.

On the street, Hannah caught her reflection in the building's window. Brown hair pulled back in a sensible ponytail, minimal makeup, practical clothes that would survive art projects and playground duty.

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