They put the flat I rented up for sale, so I had to move out. Before leaving, I spent hours cleaning every corner. The next day, my landlady called.
My heart dropped—I assumed something was wrong. Instead, she thanked me for how spotless I’d left the place. Then, her voice softened.
“How come you’re so kind and respectful,” she asked, “when most people would’ve left a mess?”
I laughed quietly and told her I wasn’t raised to walk away from a place without leaving it better than I found it.
That little apartment had been my home when I needed one most—new city, no friends, and a lot of uncertainty. Cleaning it wasn’t a chore; it was my way of saying thank you. She paused, surprised that such a small space could mean so much.
Then she shared something I didn’t expect. The previous tenant had left the flat in terrible condition—broken shelves, stained carpets, damaged walls—and never responded to her messages. She admitted she’d started believing renters were careless and ungrateful.
“But you changed my mind,” she said quietly. “You reminded me there are still people who care.”
After the call, I sat among unpacked boxes in my new place, surrounded by silence. The world moves fast, and people often leave without a second thought. But kindness lingers.
It settles where anger once lived. It heals disappointments we’ll never see. I didn’t gain anything by cleaning that flat—yet I felt richer. Because sometimes, the smallest acts restore someone’s faith in people.
