A neighborhood promises to carry umbrellas not for rain, but for each other.
**Hook:** After the third sudden storm, the apartment block created the Umbrella Rule: each resident would keep one spare by the lobby and take any forgotten one without asking.
**Rise:** On Monday, the grouchy violinist lent hers without seeing; on Tuesday, the delivery boy returned it with a chocolate taped to the handle; on Wednesday, a child left a drawing of a sun in the umbrella stand “to keep the rain company.” The system worked until a festival visitor took three. Murmurs rose like steam; the stand looked like a plucked chicken.
Mrs. D’Souza, who had invented the rule, placed a note: “Take what you need; leave what you can. Storms end; neighborhoods last.” Two days later, three umbrellas reappeared, cleaner than before, with a second note: “Sorry. Also—thank you.”
**Finish:** Months later, the stand looked different every day: some handles fancy, some plastic, one with daisies, one with a map of the city. But it always looked full. **Moral:** Trust is the only umbrella big enough for a crowd.
