Irma circled the same building for the third time carrying a parcel that was not heavy, merely stubbornly misaddressed. The new street had no sign yet. Entrance numbers were temporarily stuck on, and rain had removed half. The recipient was Bojan. On the phone he insisted he stood outside the entrance, which was true of at least six men that morning.
They found each other when he described a yellow basin on the balcony above him. Irma handed over the parcel and said the basin could become an official landmark. Bojan had just returned from abroad, and the package contained a little bookshelf, the only furniture he had chosen to buy before a bed. Everything else would come later. Irma thought that order promised either an interesting life or serious disorganization.
The following week she received his address again. This time he waited at the corner holding cardboard with his surname. He offered coffee, but she was mid-shift and declined. He was not offended. He asked when her shift ended and whether she would feel comfortable being invited then. The precise question pleased her more than coffee she would drink while watching the time.
They met on Saturday. Bojan described returning as something that should have been simple because you returned to your own language. But the city had changed, friends had schedules, and his memories included neither new buildings nor his own loneliness. Irma had spent her whole life there yet often felt she merely passed between other people's doors. Knowing addresses did not mean having somewhere she wanted to stay.
They began dating, but Irma refused to collect his parcels outside work. She did not want intimacy becoming a series of small favors only she performed. Bojan felt embarrassed because he had not noticed how easily he used her competence. He learned to visit collection points and find things himself. He brought stories to their dates rather than new tasks.
When the street sign finally appeared, Bojan sent a photograph. He invited her to dinner without any delivery. Irma found the entrance on her first attempt. Books stood on the shelf, and the bed, he assured her, had arrived too. They ate beside an open window beneath the yellow basin the neighbor still kept on her balcony. For the first time he did not need her as somebody who knew the way. He needed her as the person he wanted to welcome.