Lejla pulled three tram tickets, a receipt for lemons, and a folded night-shift roster from the torn lining of the coat. The customer stood before the mirror with his arms raised as though being examined. "Make me a pocket that won't let me down," he said. A small flour stain remained on his left sleeve. His name was Adnan, and he cooked at a restaurant that closed shortly before dawn.
Her sewing shop opened when he was heading home. The first time, they drank coffee because the rain wouldn't stop. The second time, she had miscalculated how long the repair would take. The third time, Adnan brought two bread rolls and asked whether something on the squeaking sewing machine needed oiling. Lejla handed him the oil, pleased that he hadn't immediately claimed to know better than she did.
He was divorced, as was she. They learned this without grand confessions, between conversations about stiff buttons and sleepless Sundays. When he suggested dinner, she looked at the wall clock. During his free evening she took her mother to therapy, and he couldn't exchange his Friday shift. "Some other month, then," she joked. His expression closed before she could explain that she was teasing.
The following week, the coat remained unfinished because a pipe burst above the shop. Lejla was carrying boxes of thread into the neighboring hallway alone when Adnan appeared with empty crates. He put them down, asked what he could touch, and stayed until eight. He didn't try to discuss dinner. That was precisely why she admitted that, since her divorce, she could no longer distinguish courtship from promises that would become extra work.
"I can come on Tuesday at ten past seven," he replied. "Just for breakfast. If that suits you." His precise suggestion made her laugh. Tuesday had an ordinary free space between opening the shop and the first customer. Nobody's life needed rearranging to fit one man into it. They agreed on the corner bakery, where the tables weren't especially pretty but her shop was visible through the window.
When she finished the coat, she made an inside pocket with a button. Adnan paid in full, put it on, and then found a small note: "Tuesday, ten past seven." He took out the pencil he carried with his shift roster and added that he would order cheese pie only if she liked it. Lejla crossed out "if." That morning, for the first time in years, she unlocked the shop ten minutes late without feeling that she owed anyone an explanation.