Raj helped Paige move, feeling fortunate to be invited into her private space. After entering, however, he was taken aback by what he saw. The house was in a state of severe disrepair. The walls were no longer white but had faded to a dingy gray and yellow, marred by dark brown spots that could have been anything—water damage, mold, or something he preferred not to think about. The floor was so worn that its original texture had been obliterated, and the gaps between boards were packed with accumulated grime. A persistent musty smell permeated the air, stubbornly lingering even with the windows thrown open.
The room was nearly barren of furniture and appliances. There was only one bed, one table, one chair, and one computer. No sofa, no wardrobe, no dining table, no television, no air conditioner, no oven, no microwave, no dishwasher—none of the basic amenities most people took for granted. This was the first time Raj had encountered such impoverished living conditions. To be honest, they were worse than the cramped attic where he had lived before. Yet despite the poverty, he could see that Paige worked hard to maintain what little she had with care and dignity.
He noticed that aside from the ingrained dirt that no amount of scrubbing could remove, there was almost no clutter in the room. More touching still, several potted flowers sat on the table. The flowerpots were improvised from old glass jars, containing prickly pear cacti, gorse, bougainvillea, and other hardy plants, all meticulously maintained and thriving despite their humble containers.
"Paige, which items are yours?" Raj asked with an encouraging smile.
"These books, this suitcase, this computer, and these potted flowers," Paige replied as she gestured around the sparse room.
Raj nodded. Her possessions were indeed minimal—no furniture or appliances to speak of. Only books, stacked impressively high beside the bed in towering piles that spoke to her intellectual appetite despite her material poverty.
The two of them then made multiple trips up and down the stairs, transporting hundreds of books. It took five exhausting round trips before everything was moved. Fortunately, Raj had been exercising regularly, and his physical condition was considerably better than before. The old Raj would have been doubled over and sick after just two trips.
After loading the last of Paige's belongings, Raj accompanied her to the landlord's unit to retrieve her security deposit and return the keys. Paige's landlord was a stocky, middle-aged man from Bolivia. He had a menacing appearance, and the way he looked at Paige was overtly predatory, his eyes crawling over her with barely concealed aggression.
The landlord was visibly displeased when he learned she was moving out. He had been watching Paige—a beautiful young woman living alone—and had been biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to take advantage of her vulnerability. But now she was leaving before he could make his move. His plans had been thwarted, leaving him frustrated and resentful.
Although Paige was determined to leave and he couldn't legally stop her, he still intended to find an excuse to withhold her deposit. The deposit was only five hundred dollars, but for both him and Paige, it represented a significant sum.
"I took excellent care of this apartment. I didn't cause any damage. You have no legal right to withhold my deposit," Paige said firmly, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed anger.
"Then hire yourself a lawyer and sue me," the landlord sneered. "If a judge rules against me, then I'll refund your deposit. Until then, you're not getting a dime."
Seeing his shameless behavior, Paige felt tears of frustration welling up in her eyes.
Even the cheapest lawyers in the United States charged substantial fees. A simple lawsuit could easily cost several hundred dollars—potentially more than the deposit itself. Faced with this calculated exploitation, many tenants simply gave up and walked away from their deposits. The landlords knew this and counted on it.
Seeing Paige's distress, Raj stepped forward. He pulled out his wallet and extracted what appeared to be an official lawyer's certificate.
"I'm Miss Swanson's friend and a practicing attorney," he said coolly. "Do you really want me to sue you over five hundred dollars? Because I'll do it pro bono, and I'll also file a complaint with the housing authority about the condition of this unit."
The landlord's expression shifted immediately. He scrutinized the document in Raj's hand, his confidence visibly deflating. After a tense moment, he turned and stalked back into his apartment, returning with five hundred dollars in cash, which he thrust at Paige.
"You got lucky this time. Now get the hell out of here," he spat, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the frame.
Paige clutched the money, relief and joy flooding through her. "Thank you so much, Raj. You helped me tremendously," she said, her gratitude evident.
"You're welcome. I'm just glad you got your money back," Raj replied with a dismissive wave and a warm smile. "Let's get out of this place now."
"Yes, let's," Paige agreed, then paused with curiosity. "By the way, which law school did you attend?"
"I never studied law," Raj admitted with a grin.
"Then your lawyer's certificate is...?" Paige asked, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Something I created in Photoshop," Raj explained, looking slightly sheepish. "When I used to go out with my friend Howard, he would sometimes pretend to be a lawyer to impress women. He had me make him a fake certificate to look more credible. Our scheme never actually worked for picking up girls, but today it finally proved useful for something good."
Paige couldn't help but laugh, both shocked and amused. She hadn't expected Raj—who seemed so refined, talented, calm, and principled—to have such a mischievous history.
"With your qualities, I'm surprised girls haven't been lining up for you," Paige said with genuine puzzlement. "You're kind, intelligent, handsome..."
Raj was young, attractive, accomplished, gentle, and considerate—qualities that should have made him very popular. Yet he seemed to have been perpetually single. She felt a wave of sympathy for him.
"Actually, there's something you don't know," Raj explained. "Until recently, I suffered from severe selective mutism. I literally couldn't speak when I was around women—not a single word. It wasn't until I met an exceptional psychologist that I was finally able to overcome it."
"Oh, I see," Paige said, understanding dawning on her face. "That must have been incredibly difficult for you."
To have so much to offer but be unable to communicate with half the population—Raj had endured more than twenty years of isolation and loneliness. It was genuinely heartbreaking.
"It's okay. Every disadvantage has its advantages," Raj said philosophically. "Those silent years developed my ability to listen—really listen—to people."
Paige nodded thoughtfully. The ability to truly listen was precious and rare. Many relationships failed precisely because partners stopped listening to each other, leading to diminishing communication and eventual separation. Raj's forced silence had cultivated in him a skill that many people never developed. He would undoubtedly make an excellent partner someday.
"If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here," Raj offered warmly.
"Thank you," Paige said after a brief hesitation, touched by his sincerity. "Raj, please let me cook you dinner tonight. It's the least I can do to thank you for everything you've done for me."
"That sounds wonderful. What are you planning to make?" Raj asked with interest.
"I'd like to cook for you myself, if that's all right?" Paige suggested hopefully.
"I'd love that," Raj replied. "But is there any food at your new place yet?"
"No, not yet, but I can go to the supermarket and buy what we need," Paige said with a smile.
Her new home was as empty as the old one had been—no furniture, no appliances, no supplies.
"Perfect. I'll drive you to the store," Raj offered.
He believed in finishing what you started. Besides, Paige was kind and genuine, and he was happy to help her a little longer.
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