Some sappy love song lyricist (or twenty) once said that when you let something go, and it returns to you in the end, you know that something is yours to keep.
My umbrella came back.
Either some really kind anonymous person or a really guilty one, came to my apartment between 2am and 4am this morning, and hung my brolly – neatly folded and velcroed – on the doorknob to the stairwell that’s right next to my door.
My mother had called up the management office and suggested that any black umbrella that was found abandoned could be the one I lost. So maybe the wind was really so strong it blew my umbrella four floors down and a cleaner had found it. Maybe someone was so desperate for an umbrella the morning I lost it, that he couldn’t resist grabbing the one that was the lightest and the most inconspicuous amongst the patterned and logo-ed ones, and borrowing it for a night.