Penny calls at 8 AM on a Tuesday.
"Stuart. You need to see this."
"Good morning to you too."
"Seriously. Co over. Right now."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Sothing's—weird. Just co over."
Her apartnt building mailboxes are in the lobby. Standard wall of brass rectangles with combination locks.
Penny's holding a comic book.
Ms. Marvel #1. Carol Danvers run.
"Where'd you get that?" I ask.
"My mailbox. This morning." She hands a note attached with a paper clip.
You'll love this one. Strong female lead, excellent character developnt. Perfect follow-up to Wonder Woman.
No signature. Typed on plain white paper.
"Did you leave this?" Penny asks.
"No. I recomnded Ms. Marvel last week but I didn't—" I examine the comic. "This is from my shop. I recognize the bag and board. But I didn't put it in your mailbox."
"Leonard?"
"Why would Leonard leave you comics anonymously?"
"I don't know! That's why it's weird!"
I check the comic thoroughly. Nothing else written. Just the note and a perfectly selected trade that absolutely matches Penny's developing interests.
"Maybe soone from the building?" I suggest.
"Who? My neighbors are like, three college students and an elderly couple. Nobody knows I'm reading comics."
"Soone from the gang?"
"But why anonymously?"
Good question.
"Let's not overthink it," I say finally. "Maybe it's a nice gesture. Soone being kind."
"Or creepy."
"Helpful creepy?"
"Still creepy."
Four days later, it happens again.
Runaways Volu 1. Perfect for Penny's taste—strong female characters, teenage protagonists, emotional depth.
Another note: Thought you'd enjoy this. Trust .
"Okay, this is definitely weird," Penny says.
We're at my penthouse. She brought the comic over imdiately.
"Soone's watching what you read," I observe. "Knows your preferences. Has access to your mailbox."
"That's the creepy part."
"Or the thoughtful part?"
"Stuart. Soone is leaving comics. Without telling who they are. That's stalker behavior."
"Helpful stalker behavior?"
"There's no such thing!"
Fair point.
"Want to stake out your mailbox?" I offer.
"How would that work?"
"I could—I don't know. Sit in your lobby? Watch for whoever's doing this?"
"For how long? They could co at any ti."
Also fair.
"We could ask the gang," I suggest. "See if anyone knows anything."
"I already asked Leonard. He said no."
"Suspicious."
"That's what I thought! But he seed genuinely confused."
"Howard?"
"Wouldn't he do sothing more—Howard about it? Like, leave comics about won in bikinis?"
"Probably."
"Raj?"
"Maybe? He's sentintal enough."
"Sheldon?"
We both pause.
"Actually," I say slowly. "Sheldon makes sense. He'd do weird helpful things without understanding social norms around anonymity."
"But how would he know what I like?"
"He pays attention. Probably has a database of everyone's preferences."
"God, you're right. He totally has a database."
Wednesday comic pickup, I pull Sheldon aside.
"Are you leaving comics in Penny's mailbox?"
"No. Why would I do that?"
His confusion seems genuine. Sheldon's a terrible liar—too literal to manage deception well.
"Soone's been leaving her perfectly curated recomndations."
"Fascinating. What's their selection criteria?"
"Strong female leads, character-driven stories, accessible but deep."
"Excellent taste. I approve of this anonymous benefactor."
"So it's not you?"
"I just said no."
"Sotis you say no but an sothing technical that amounts to yes."
"This is not one of those tis."
Dead end.
A week into the mystery, Penny's received four comics total.
All perfect selections. All from my shop's inventory. All appearing in her mailbox without explanation.
"I'm installing a cara," she announces.
"In your lobby?"
"On my phone. I'll set it up facing the mailboxes. See who cos."
"That's—actually clever."
"I'm full of surprises."
The cara catches nothing. Twelve hours of lobby footage showing: elderly neighbor getting mail, college students getting pizza delivery, Penny herself checking multiple tis.
No mystery comic deliverer.
"How is this possible?" Penny demands, reviewing footage on her laptop.
"Maybe they're really good at timing?"
"Or they have a key to the building."
"Who has keys?"
"Residents. Maintenance. Managent."
"So potentially anyone."
"This is so frustrating!"
I'm starting to enjoy the mystery despite Penny's irritation. It's harmless. Thoughtful, even. Soone's putting effort into enriching her comic education.
But the how is genuinely puzzling.
"We'll figure it out," I assure her.
"When?"
"Eventually."
"That's not helpful."
"Neither is stress. Just—enjoy the comics? They're good recomndations."
She glares at . Then at the latest delivery—Saga Volu 1.
"They are good recomndations," she admits. "That's what makes it weird. Whoever this is knows my taste better than I do."
That night, lying in bed, I run through possibilities.
Leonard: Said no, seed honest.
Howard: Too subtle for his style.
Raj: Possible but unlikely—would've cracked by now.
Bernadette: Doesn't make sense.
Sheldon: Denied it, seed genuine.
Soone else: Who?
The tingle flares briefly. My mory trying to surface sothing.
But there's nothing. This isn't in the show's tiline I rember. This is—new. Different.
Proof that I'm creating a divergent reality through my presence.
Small changes accumulating.
And honestly?
It's kind of exciting.
Not knowing what's coming.
Actually being surprised.
Even if Penny finds it creepy, I'm enjoying the mystery.
We'll solve it eventually.
For now, it's just one more thread making life interesting.
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