In America, a stranger will say "bless you" when you sneeze. It is meant to be nothing. A reflex. They do not even look up. I know this. That is the problem. The first time, I sneezed in a grocery line. The man behind me said "bless you" and kept scrolling his phone. He had guarded my soul. In its weakest moment, when it tried to leave my body, he called it back. Then he forgot he had done it. Where I am from, a debt like this is repaid over three generations. I turned to thank him. He was already gone. So I started a list. Every voice that has ever caught my soul mid-flight and asked for nothing in return. The list is forty-one names long. I will never find them all. So I have chosen a different path. If I cannot repay them, I will become the one who guards. Now I stand near the registers. Silent. Listening for the moment a soul tries to flee. Yesterday I blessed four sneezes, two coughs, and one shopping cart whose wheel cried out as it passed. The cart, I admit, was a mistake. But I could not take the risk. Its soul, at least, is safe. Has anyone here ever heard a soul leaving, and known you were the only one close enough to call it back?