In the corridor they identified each other by their parents. She was the daughter of the man in room eight; he was the son of the woman who always requested another pillow. Only in the third week did they exchange names. Sanja and Haris. They brought each other machine coffee, saved places on the bench, and listened to the same uncertain statements without immediately trying to fix them. When her father went home, Sanja realised she missed a man she had seen nowhere else.
She messaged suggesting coffee. He agreed, mentioning that he would visit his mother afterwards. In the café she did not immediately recognise him. He wore a green shirt, without the bag packed with fruit and spare belongings. He paused before her table as though on the wrong floor. Both laughed, then asked about their parents. Their conversation promptly found the familiar corridor and stayed there longer than intended.
Sanja first admitted she did not know what he did. Haris repaired musical instruments. She handled payroll for a small company. The facts sounded oddly official after everything they already knew about each other's fears. Haris tried telling a funny story about a man who had brought a broken trumpet in a potato sack. Sanja laughed, surprised to see a completely new liveliness on his face.
Then they encountered their first difference. He loved loud concerts; in crowds she always looked for an exit. He thought the right music could change that. Sanja looked at him calmly enough for him to stop himself. She had not come to be another person whose condition needed improving. Haris apologised and asked where she did feel comfortable. She said she loved early walks before the city had fully opened its eyes.
They arranged Sunday morning. It did not look like a grand beginning, merely another attempt to meet without the shared bench where they worried. Haris's mother left hospital later that month. There was no longer a reason to encounter each other accidentally. That gave their messages something less certain and more beautiful, because each now had to be intentional.
On their third walk Sanja grew angry at his lateness. Haris bought the wrong pastries. They were not a perfect couple born from difficult times. They sat on a cold bench, negotiated fifteen minutes, and shared a breakfast neither particularly liked. When he asked whether they would meet again, she said yes, but next time she would choose the bakery.