ArtFlow

It started on a Tuesday. She almost missed it — a small folded paper half under her door, half on the hallway floor. "Good morning. Hope your coffee is strong today." No name. She looked left and right down the hallway. Nothing.
She told herself it was probably meant for someone else. But the next morning there was another one. "The rain sounds different at 6AM. Have you noticed?" She had noticed. She'd been noticing it for years and never said it out loud to anyone.
By the third note she started leaving one back. Just a sentence. Then two. Then a question. The questions became the best part of her day — better than the coffee, better than anything waiting for her at work. She began waking up earlier just to write them.
Three months passed. She knew his handwriting better than her own sister's. She knew he read before sleeping, that he was afraid of forgetting things, that he once loved someone who left without explanation. She knew all of this and had never seen his face.
The morning she realized she was in love, she stood at her door for a long time before leaving her note. It just said: "I think I know you better than most people I've actually met."
His reply was there when she came home. "I think so too. Same time tomorrow?