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He dialed her number before he could stop himself.

He was twenty-two. Drunk at a party in a basement lit by string lights. A girl with violet hair and a brass pendulum had asked everyone to write a “wish for a stranger” on a scrap of paper. Alex, cynical and bored, had scribbled: “I wish someone would show me something that can’t be explained by math.” He’d folded it, dropped it into a clay bowl, and forgotten it. alex coal 1111customs

It arrived on November 11th—11/11—at exactly 11:11 AM. No return address. Just a white box stamped with a single word in faded silver ink: He dialed her number before he could stop himself