The old man lowered his eyes and answered with a sad smile:
— We used to live in your apartment. After her death, I moved next door — I couldn’t stay there alone anymore. But… since then, I can’t eat unless I share.
She always waited for us to eat together. Every morning, the same plate stood outside our door — clean, neat, as if someone had carefully chosen the place and time to set it down։ We froze when we found out who it was and why they were doing it
He turned and walked away, leaving us in complete silence. Since then, he stopped leaving food by our door, but every time we pass his, we can still hear the faint clinking of dishes — as if, somewhere behind the wall, the table is still set for two.
