The coat doesn't matter.

"True need doesn't ask—it just stands silently in the doorway."

It was cold that day, but not because of the air.

The question standing in front of the door froze the space.

The woman entered.

In a nice coat.

In a firm voice.

Not like someone who came to ask—more like someone who is holding someone accountable.

The silence in the office didn't change.

She just listened.

There had been many kinds of people here before: those who had nothing, and those whose names even trembled when they said them.

They didn't ask much.

They didn't interrogate.

They just sat there and waited for someone to notice them.

Because true need doesn't make noise.

It doesn't explain.

It doesn't play a role.

True need just stands in the doorway… and waits silently.

When the woman finally left, there was no anger left behind.

Just one realization:

It's not the coat that tells who is who.

But how it stops at a door.

And silence returned to its place, as if knowing:

The real knock always comes softly.

Silence.