Every day, we encounter moments that give us just enough information to start writing a story.

A note tucked beneath a windshield wiper is one of them.

Someone hit my car. Someone is angry. I parked somewhere I shouldn't have.

Maybe.

Or maybe someone saw another car scrape your bumper and left their number. Maybe a stranger noticed something you didn't. Maybe it's an apology. Maybe it's a thank-you. Maybe it's something completely unexpected.

The truth is, we don't know.

And that's the point.

Our brains don't particularly like an unfinished story. When pieces are missing, we instinctively begin filling in the blanks—often with our experiences, expectations, and fears.

And we do it with far more than notes beneath windshield wipers.

A text goes unanswered. Someone walks past without saying hello. A coworker seems unusually quiet. A friend cancels plans.

We see what happened.

Then we create a story about why it happened.

Sometimes we're right.

What did you decide the note said before you ever picked it up?

What if the story we created says more about what we're carrying than what the note actually says?