The Box Under the Bridge

Every Sunday, Fabian walks along the river. He takes the same path and sees the same ducks. He likes it because nothing changes.

Today, something is different. A girl in a yellow coat stands under the bridge. She looks at the wall. Then she looks at her phone. Then she looks at the wall again.

Fabian stops. "Are you lost?" he asks.

"No," says the girl. "I look for something."

"What is it?"

"I do not know," she says. "That is the fun part. My phone says it is here, under this bridge. Within ten steps."

Fabian looks at the wall and the ground. He sees stones, leaves, and a bottle. Nothing is special. "It is only a bridge," he says.

"Then help me look," says the girl. Her name is Gita. She says it is a game. People hide small boxes in many places. Other people find them with their phones.

Fabian is not sure. He thinks about his Sunday plan. It is a short one: walk, sit, go home. But he has nothing to do. And the girl is kind. "Okay," he says. "Where do I look?"

"Look for something that is not right," says Gita. "Something that does not belong."

Fabian walks slowly under the bridge. The air is cool and smells of wet stone. He looks at the wall, low and high. Every stone looks the same. Then he sees one stone. It is a little too clean.

He puts his hand on it. It moves.

"Gita!" he says. "Come here."

The stone is not a stone. It is a gray plastic cover. Behind it there is a small hole in the wall. Fabian puts his hand inside. He pulls out a metal box. It is about the size of a loaf of bread.

Gita shouts with joy. They sit on the ground and open the box together. Inside, there is a notebook and a pencil. There is also a tiny plastic duck.

Fabian opens the notebook. Many names are written on the pages. Some names have dates, and some have pictures. A child draws a house. A man writes, "Found it in the rain!" Somebody writes in another language, and he cannot read it.

"Who are all these people?" he asks.

"Walkers," says Gita. "Like us. Everyone who finds the box writes their name. The first note is from five years ago."

Fabian reads the first page. A person wrote: "Hello, finder. I hope your day is good. Please put the box back."

He smiles. All these people came to this same bridge. They looked at the same wall. And he walked here every Sunday and never knew.

Gita writes her name and today's date. She gives the pencil to Fabian. He writes slowly: Fabian, Sunday, the ducks are still here.

"Do we take something?" he asks.

"If you take something, you leave something," says Gita.

Fabian thinks. In his pocket there is a small blue button. He puts it in the box. He takes the tiny duck. Then he puts the box back in the hole. He closes the gray cover.

"Next Sunday," says Gita, "I show you another one."

Fabian looks at the path along the river. It looks different now. "Which way?" he asks.