⏱ ~3 min reading
On Tuesday afternoon, a courier rang at Ulyana's door. Ulyana was home alone — her mother was still at work, and her father would be back in the evening.
In the mirror of the door peephole, Ulyana saw a young man in a yellow jacket, with a tablet and a box. Ulyana opened it.
“Delivery for Yulia?” the courier asked.
"I'm Ulyana," Ulyana said.
— Ulyana-Yuliya, — the courier looked at the tablet. — Here is your address. Your apartment number. Sign.
Ulyana signed it—carefully, with her signature, which she practiced in the margins of her notebooks. She took the package. The box was not very large, wrapped in floral paper, with a pink ribbon. Ulyana returned to the apartment.
She put it on the table. She looked at it.
The box smelled a little like perfume and a little like something sweet—like chocolate.
Ulyana carefully turned it over. There was a sticker with the address on the side. She read: the house was hers, the entrance was hers, the floor was the third. And she lived on the first.
Apartment number twenty-five. And hers is number seventeen.
The name is "Julia".
Ulyana sat down on a chair. She looked at the box. The courier made a mistake. The floor was the third, not the first. Yulia, not Ulyana.
«"And I've already signed it," Ulyana thought. "So it's mine now? I signed it.".
She imagined what was inside. Maybe a set of chocolates with a cherry layer—the kind that mom only brings for the holidays. Maybe a pretty hair clip—like her classmate Sofia's, with a mother-of-pearl flower. Maybe perfume in a small pink bottle.
She felt sweet inside. So tempting.
But then she imagined something else.
That Yulia from the third floor. Ulyana hardly knew her - she had only seen her in the elevator: a quiet woman with a black ponytail, in a lilac jacket. Maybe it was her birthday today. Maybe she was waiting for a package. Maybe she was already worried - the courier hadn't come? But in fact, the courier had come - and gave it to Ulyana.
If Yulia comes down, she will ask the concierge - he will say: "I only know that the courier came, gave it to someone from the first floor." And Yulia will not know. And she will walk around sad. And the gift - maybe from her mother, or from her husband, or from a friend - will be at Ulyana's house, someone else's.
Ulyana took the package. She wiped the table and carefully placed it on the nightstand in the entrance hall so as not to forget.
When my mother came home from work, Ulyana showed her.
"Mom. The courier made a mistake. It's not for us.".
Mom read the address. She nodded seriously—and a little proudly.
— Let's go and take it together.
They went up to the third floor. The doorbell rang at twenty-five. Yulia answered—really with a black ponytail. She had a phone in her hand, a look of concern on her face.
— Yulia, good evening. This is for you, — said Ulyana. — The courier gave it to me on the first floor — he made a mistake. I signed for it because I thought it was mine. And then I checked.
Julia looked at the box. Her eyes became round—and then lit up.
— Oh my God, I thought the package was lost! It's from my mother, from Poltava. For my son's birthday. He has a holiday tomorrow.
Yulia hugged Ulyana — unexpectedly, warmly.
"Thank you, child. Honest.".
When Ulyana and her mother went down the stairs, her mother held her hand. The house smelled of her mother's borscht, and Ulyana felt warm inside.
“You see,” said Mom, “the best gift is the one you didn’t keep for yourself.”.
Ulyana nodded. Because now she knew: what belongs to someone else is what belongs to someone else, even if she has already signed for it. And the sweetest thing is to return it.
💡 If it's not yours, return it.