Special Delivery
"He delivers packages across London—face she sees every other day at her door. She's the customer who orders constantly just to see him. When a package goes missing, he comes inside to help look for it. Neither wants him to leave."
"Package for Halima?"
Same driver. Same smile. Same flutter in my chest.
"That's me."
"I know." He hands it over. "Third delivery this week."
His name is Faisal.
Works the route that includes my flat. I've memorized his schedule.
"You order a lot," he observes.
"I like shopping online."
"You like something." He smiles knowingly. "I'm not sure it's shopping."
The missing package.
He offers to help look. I let him in. Neither of us looks very hard.
"It's not here," I say.
"Clearly." He's not looking at the floor. "But I am."
"You should probably go."
"Probably." He doesn't move. "Unless you want me to stay."
"This is a terrible idea."
I say it even as I pull him closer.
"Terrible ideas are my specialty." He cups my face. "I've been making up reasons to come to your door for weeks."
"What reasons?"
"Wrong addresses. Missing signatures." He kisses me. "Anything to see you."
We don't find the package.
We find each other instead.
"Faisal—"
"I've delivered to hundreds of doors."
"And?"
"Yours is the only one I dream about opening." He carries me to the bedroom. "Let me deliver properly."
We make love while packages pile up outside.
His route abandoned, my orders forgotten, just us discovering each other.
"You're worth losing my job—"
"Don't lose your job." I pull him deeper. "Just come back. Always come back."
He keeps delivering.
But now he comes inside. Every delivery ends the same way.
"I have a special package," he says one day.
"Another lost one?"
"A found one." He kneels, opens a small box. "Marry me. Let me deliver forever."
I say yes.
Best tracking number of my life.