When Samira buys a secondhand car at a dealership, she thinks it a victory because it was something she had done all by herself. But the next morning, the mysterious previous owner of the car calls her, claiming that he left something “alive” under the seat of the car. Will Samira meet him or uncover the secret package by herself?
When I first bought my car, it was supposed to be a small victory. I had left my corporate job to take time off to write my collection of short stories. So, I didn’t want to splurge my savings until something big came my way financially.
It was nothing fancy, just a used Toyota Corolla from the local dealership. The thrill of owning it was enough to make me overlook any thoughts about its previous owner. Whoever they were, they were in my past, and I was cruising straight into my future.
Or so I thought.
But then came that random phone call which changed everything.
It was early, around 7 a.m., and I was in the middle of making my morning coffee when my phone buzzed with an unknown number.
Normally, I’d ignore it, but something about early morning and late-night unknown calls made me answer. I didn’t know if someone needed me.
“Hello?” I said, yawning.
“Hi, is this the new owner of the Toyota Corolla?” a man asked, anxiety in his voice.
“Yes, this is her. Who’s speaking?” I asked, suddenly feeling uneasy.
He took a deep breath.
“Oh, thank goodness! I’m so sorry to bother you, but I need your help. I was the previous owner of the car, and I left something under the seat of the car when I gave it in yesterday morning. You picked it up yesterday, yes?”
“Yes,” I replied, confused about what he was getting at.
“Okay. Good,” he paused. “I need to get my hands on what I left behind. It’s really important. It’s urgent, really.”
What on earth could be so important that he would track me down like this? Was the dealership even allowed to give out personal information?
“What did you leave?” I asked, trying to stay calm.
“It’s something… alive,” he stammered. “Please, ma’am, I need to come and get it as soon as possible. I promise you, I’ll explain when I see you.”
I remained silent for a moment.
Alive? The word echoed loudly in my mind. Was this man serious? What alive thing could possibly be in the car? My mind raced between a baby to a dog to even a package of narcotics that he was brushing off as something alive.
But I knew that I would have noticed something like that.
“Do you want to meet me somewhere or give me your address?” he continued.
I should have probably said no to all of the above. But there was something about him and the panic in his voice that made me hesitate to say no.
“Okay,” I finally said, my voice more firm than I felt. “Come over to my neighborhood. There’s a park not too far away from where I live. I’ll meet you there. I’ll send the address to this number.”
“That’s perfect,” he said, sighing in relief. “Don’t worry, it’s contained for now.”
I hung up and stared at my phone.
“What are you doing, Samira?” I asked myself. “Are you really going to meet a random person?”
But, what would be alive under my seat? My thoughts darted to worse-case scenarios again. What if it was a dangerous animal?
I had no idea what to expect, and that’s what made me nervous.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing next to the Corolla in the cool morning air, waiting for the mysterious stranger to show up.
The neighborhood was still quiet, and I imagined everyone in their homes slowly waking up or making breakfast for their families.
Finally, a man pulled up in an old pickup truck, just as he had texted me to say he would. His eyes scanned the area nervously before landing on me.
“I’m Ben,” he said. “Thank you for letting me come.”
He was younger than I imagined, and probably in his late twenties like myself, with dark hair that looked like he’d run his hands through it one too many times.
There was something endearing about his disheveled appearance, though I could tell he was genuinely worried.
Stop it, Samira, I told myself. This isn’t one of your romantic comedy stories. This isn’t a meet-cute.
“No problem,” I replied. “I’m Samira. So, what exactly did you leave under the seat?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he opened the driver’s door and dropped to his knees beside the car and reached under the seat. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, Ben pulled out a small, sealed box with tiny air holes punched into the top. My stomach did a flip as I imagined a tarantula inside the box.
“I’m really sorry to bother you like this,” he said, standing up and holding the box.
“What’s in there?” I asked, almost amused.
“I have a pet gecko at home, and I feed it live insects every day. Yesterday, I stopped at the pet store to pick up some food, including mealworms and roaches, but I must have left the box under the seat when I was unloading the car.”
It took a moment for his words to register with me.
“You left a box of live insects under the seat?” I asked.
“Not by choice,” he replied sheepishly. “I was late to hand over the car as well. So the moment I unloaded everything else at home, I rushed over to the dealership to leave the car… for you.”
“You’re lucky that they didn’t escape,” I said.
Suddenly, a laugh bubbled up inside me before I could stop it, and once it started, it was hard to stop.
He looked at me, confused for a second, before a grin spread across his face.
“I know, it’s ridiculous, right?” he said. “I was so freaked out that I couldn’t even sleep. I kept imagining them crawling around your car, and I just…”
“My goodness,” I exclaimed. “That would have been quite the surprise.”
The thought of driving around with a box full of escaped bugs lurking somewhere under the seat was both horrifying and hilarious.
“I’m really sorry, Samira,” he said, his grin fading into something more genuine. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t know what else to do. The gecko, Samson, is actually my little brother’s pet. And as wacky as it is, that kid loves it.”
“No judgment here,” I replied. “I had a pet frog for a solid two weeks as a kid until my mother found it bouncing around my room.”
That was enough to set us both off again. We laughed until tears ran down our faces.
“Let me make it up to you,” he blurted out suddenly. “How about I take you out for a coffee? As an apology for the… bug thing?”
I stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden offer. I hadn’t expected any of this. But at the same time, I felt like I was in one of the romance stories that I wrote.
There was just something about the way he asked, something genuine and a little bit hopeful.
“I… um,” I started to say. “Sure, why not?”
“Great!” he said, his face lighting up. “I know a place not too far away from here. Would you like to go now?”
I laughed at his enthusiasm.
“How about you take me to a car wash to wash away any bugs and my paranoia, and then we can grab a coffee?” I asked, half-joking, half-serious.
“Actually, that’s the least I can do,” he said. “Come on.”
Ben put the box of insects in his truck and locked the door. I threw my keys at him, which he caught perfectly.
As we drove to the car wash, Ben told me all about his little brother, who was living with him.
“There’s a big age gap between us,” he said. “But there’s a really good school two roads away from me. So he’s enrolled there.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said, watching his hands on the steering wheel. “I wish I had a younger sibling to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
When we got to the car wash, Ben ensured that we would take the full package.
“Give her a good wash, guys,” he said.
We went for coffee while the car was being attended to.
And I wondered what was going to happen next…
What would you have done?
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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