The express arrived at 10:07 on Wednesday morning.
I still remember that time, because at that time I was staring at the computer screen with a cup of coffee, and the human resources department in the WeChat group was urging everyone to submit quarterly appraisal forms. The printer in the administrative department had a paper jam, the finance department called to say that last month's reimbursement form was missing a signature, and the girl at the front desk was asking about what to order for afternoon tea - everything was normal, so normal that it made people feel bored.
Until the SF Express guy stood at the door and called my name.
"Shen Tang, your express delivery."
I looked at the sender and was stunned.
The sender column says "Shen Tang", the handwriting is crooked, as if it was written by the left hand. The mailing address was the old community where I lived three years ago, an old apartment in the south of the city that didn't even have an elevator. I returned all the keys to the landlord when I moved out. Who will send me things from there?
"Did you send it to the wrong one?" I asked the little brother.
He looked at the receipt and shook his head: "The recipient is you and the phone number is correct. Please sign for it."
I hesitated for two seconds and signed.
When I was unpacking the package, the fluorescent light in the office just flashed. I remember it very clearly, because at that moment, I saw what was lying in the express box, my hand shook, and the coffee spilled half of the table.
A black and white photo.
