Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - The Valentine in the Drawer, Part 2

Episode Date: February 9, 2026

Our story tonight is called The Valentine in the Drawer, Part Two, and while it is connected to ⁠Part One⁠, it is actually set long before the bit we heard last week. This is actually our first ever historical Nothing Much Story, something I had much too much fun with. If you manage to hear any of it, which I doubt, as you are already very sleepy, you’ll notice it is full of village easter eggs and familiar locations. It’s a story about a cold February morning, made bright and warm by an envelope slipped into a mailbox. It’s also about fogged up windows on a streetcar, a kettle about to whistle, red roses and marbles, galoshes stepped into with haste, and a small drawer in a desk filled with love notes. Subscribe to our ⁠⁠⁠Premium channel.⁠⁠⁠ The first month is on us. 💙 See less carts go abandoned and more sales go “cha ching” with Shopify and their Shop Pay button. Sign up for your one-dollar-per-month trial today at ⁠shopify.com/nothingmuch⁠ Our listeners get 15% off plus free shipping when they buy two or more pairs of prescription glasses at ⁠WarbyParker.com/NOTHINGMUCH⁠ — using our link helps support the show. #WarbyParker #ad We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to ⁠The Center for Wildlife⁠. Their vision is to instill a sense of understanding, responsibility, and compassion for our natural world, leading to a society connected to nature and empowered to take action. They do this through conservation medicine, environmental education, community empowerment, and advocacy. ⁠⁠⁠⁠NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Listen to our daytime show ⁠⁠⁠⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Sit Meditation with Kathryn⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠⁠⁠⁠  Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠ Visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠Nothing Much Happens⁠⁠⁠⁠ for more Village fun! ⁠Come Stay at The Inn with This Playlist!⁠ Pre-Order Links for Kathryn's New Book ⁠⁠⁠Here⁠⁠⁠! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. If you already listen to me, then you know bedtime stories can be powerful tools for rest. But sometimes what you need isn't a story. Maybe it's something a little different. And that's where sleep magic comes in. Sleep magic is a sleep hypnosis.

podcast hosted by hypnotherapist Jessica Porter. Instead of storytelling, Jessica uses a hypnotic voice that gradually slows down, weaving in gentle suggestions to help your mind, let go. It's designed so that by the end, you're not just calmer, you're already asleep. And what's unique is that she doesn't only talk about sleep. Jessica threads in themes like dealing with heartbreak, easing anxiety, and building confidence. So the work you do while drifting off actually carries into your waking life. There are more than 300 episodes, and listeners call the show Life Changing and a Real Gift. Over 5 million people have tuned in, and I can see why.

So if you're curious to try a different approach, one that complements what you already get here. Subscribe to Sleep Magic, wherever you listen to podcasts. Just search Sleep Magic and start listening for free today. You know that moment when you're ready to check out and suddenly you can't find your wallet or remember your password. And then you see it. The purple shop pay button.

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Go to Shopify.com slash nothing much. That's Shopify.com slash nothing much. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens.

You feel good. And then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on nothing much happens Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week

and this week we are giving to the Center for Wildlife Their vision is to instill a sense of understanding responsibility and compassion for our natural world leading to a society connected to nature and empowered to take action through conservation medicine, environmental education, community empowerment, and advocacy. You can learn more about them in our show notes for ad-free, bonus, and extra long episodes, including some in which some things actually kind of happen.

Join our premium feed. Click subscribe on Apple or Spotify or go to Nothing Much Happens.com. Now I have a story to tell you. And just by listening, you'll send a signal of safety to your nervous system. My voice, especially as it becomes more familiar with use, will be a cue to relax and let go, to let sleep, pull you down, and to deep rest.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to just start an episode over again. Our story tonight is called The Valentine in the drawer, part two. And while it is connected to part one, it is actually set long before the bit we heard last week. This is actually our first ever historical nothing much story, something I had much fun with. And if you manage to hear any of it, which I doubt, as you are already very sleepy, you'll notice it is full of village Easter eggs and familiar locations.

It's a story about a cold February morning made bright and warm by an envelope slipped into a mailbox. It's also about fogged up windows on a streetcar, a cattle about to whistle, red roses and marbles, galoshes stepped into with haste, and a small drawer in a desk filled with love notes. I'm picky about glasses. They're on your face every day. People notice them.

And if you've seen me on social media, you might know my glasses are consistently stunning. And listeners comment on them a lot. So for me, buying eyewear has never been just about convenience. It has to look good. It has to feel intentional. And for a long time, that usually meant complicated choices and a painful price tag. And that's why I really love Warby Parker. Their frames are stylish in a way that feels thoughtful rather than trendy, and the quality is genuinely good.

Once you find a pair you love, you realize how much easier they've made the whole process. I also appreciate their virtual try-on because it actually helps you see how different frames will work with your face before you commit, which matters when you care about design. And the price still surprises me. Warby Parker's prescription glasses, start at $95, so you don't have to choose between style and affordability. They also make it easy to get everything in one place, prescription glasses, contacts, online eye exams, and sunglasses.

And they have over 300 retail stores across the U.S. if you ever want to go in person. And one more thing I love. For every pair they sell, they distribute a pair to someone in need. They've already helped more than 20 million people see better. Warby Parker gives you quality and better-looking prescription eyewear at a fraction of the going price. Our listeners get 15% off plus free shipping when they buy two or more pairs of prescription glasses at Warbyparker.com slash nothing much. That's 15% off when you buy two pairs at W-A-R-B-Y Parker.com slash nothing much.

After you purchase, they'll ask where you heard about them. Please support our show and tell them nothing much. happens sent you. So snuggle down whatever you've done today. Trust that it was enough. Trust that you are exactly where you're supposed to be right now and that the world can turn without you for a while. Take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh through your mouth, again breathe in and out, the Valentine in the drawer. Part 2. I couldn't see much. From my window on the second floor, the mist and fog were thick today, so thick that when the sun came up, I'd hardly noticed. These were the gray days of winter,

dark and cold, damp and short. And I was feeling all of that today. I'd laid my cardigan over the radiator at the front window to warm it, though the thin panes of glass led in such a draughty chill that I wasn't sure how much warmth could actually be caught. On days like these, the kettle stayed hot all day as it was refilled and re-boiled for cup after cup of tea. Its hiss was picking up now, and I reached out with a cloth to lift it off the flame before it whistled. I'd already had two cups of tea, so I switched to post-up.

just for a change, doctoring it up with milk and sugar for a boost. On top of everything else, I'd run out of coffee. And thought of going down to the automat, theirs was just a nickel and so delicious. But the world just looked too cold and dreary to get me into my coat and hat this morning.

I carried my cup back to the window and reached for my cardigan, which thankfully was toasty warm now. I pulled it on, and the feeling of it as it wrapped over my chilled skin was absolutely divine. I hugged myself for a moment,

trying to soak up as much of the heat as I could, I heard a soft, electric whine and glanced out the window to see a streetcar, slowly turning through the intersection. Its trolley pole flexing slightly against the wire above. Through the foggy windows, I couldn't make out any faces of passengers, just coats and hats, a mitten pressed against. against a pain in the back.

Well, I thought, as I sipped at my drink, they got out today. Good for them. It was a Saturday. Two days before Valentine's, and maybe it wasn't just the weather, making me a bit blue. My Valentine and I

weren't likely to be together on the 14th. a big snowstorm out east was shutting down the trains from there to here, and they weren't expected to be up and running for another day or two at the earliest. And though I knew that the 14th of February was just a date on the calendar and that love can be celebrated any day we choose. I had a heaviness in my heart. In fact, I laid my hand right on it, still staring out through the front window of the flat,

as if I could lift it back into place. The corners of my lips lifted just a bit, as I imagined myself being seen by someone on the street, a woman in a dimly lit window, angsty and dramatic, as she clutched her heart and looked yearningly into the fog. Goodness, I was perhaps being a little theatrical. The smile turned into a chuckle,

and soon my mood shifted. Yes, it was cold and gray. But eventually those trains would get back on track, pun intended. And this little apartment would hum with a happy reunion. I took a long drink from my cup and let my eyes wander up and down, the street below me. A man was knocking snow from his boots beside the door of the bakery.

He pulled it open. For a mother with a child in a heavy coat, she had a trolley full of groceries. And at the top, I could see a loaf of the dark, pumper-nickel bread. The bakery specialized in. the child's mittens hung by strings from the arms of their coat. As they clutched a donut in their hands, I looked toward the village green, mostly deserted today, though on sunny days, the stone benches and tables, would be occupied with chess players and newspaper readers.

The fountain was turned off for the winter, and I wondered if its basin was full of the marbles, that local kids dropped in when they made a wish. Would they be trapped under a layer of ice? Wishes frozen till the spring. I couldn't see the flower shop from my window. But I bet it was full of red roses, this close to Valentine's. The shop below our apartment had been a haberdashery when we'd moved in.

I'd loved looking in their windows at the neat displays of handkerchiefs, gloves and ties, the racks of hats and rows of fine socks and suspenders. But they'd outgrown the space and moved to another building across town. a few months back. Now the windows were covered over with newspaper as something new was being set up in the space. At the newsstand across the street, I'd heard a rumor

that it was set to become a bookshop. And I certainly hoped that was true. How I would love to run downstairs every time I was ready for my next read. I was about to turn away from the window, to put the cattle back on the stove for the next cup of something hot to drink, when I spotted the postman coming down the block. His head was bowed over a stack of letters as he sorted through them. The clerk at the stationary shop stepped out to meet him and received some

letters. Then the postman paused at our building's boxes below. I pressed close to the glass, straining to look straight down and see if he had anything for me. He slotted a few envelopes into the box for the family upstairs and went back to sorting. Then, as if feeling my eyes on him, he took one from the bunch and looked up at me in the window. and smiled. He waved it at me and winked as he tucked it into the slot, even with the cool chill of the window. I felt my cheeks heat up with a blush. Clearly he'd read the name of the sender and knew this was not just a letter, but a Valentine. I flew to the coat rack and stepped into my galoshes. I tied my scarf over my head as I hurried down the stairs

and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The postman had already gone on to the next building, but I wouldn't have been embarrassed if he had seen me rush to the box. I wasn't shy about being in love. I lifted the lid and reached inside for the dear envelope. I suddenly didn't mind the cold, the gray skies, the damp air. I didn't even notice it as I opened the letter and looked at what my love had sent me. Pretty lines of verse, decorated with hand-drawn cupids and flowers.

and how sweet just to see that handwriting I knew so well, where I had been tired and nearly out of energy. I was suddenly awake and alive. I was warm from my center to my toes, and I touched the place where my love had signed the paper. Now I went slowly, back up the stairs, rereading the poem, dreamily drifting back into the apartment, rehanging my coat on its hook. I carried the letter to my writing desk and sat down, smoothing out the folded sheet of paper, and thinking about what I might write back, my Valentine might be home again, before I could. could send a response through the mail, but still, I could write it. I slid open the desk drawer

with some difficulty. It was already full of love notes. We'd written back and forth. One day soon, something would surely get stuck in there. So prolific was our story. and I decided to take some time with another cup of tea at my side to read back through some of the others maybe the ones we'd written at earlier Valentine's days before I set my own pen to paper. The Valentine in the drawer Part 2

I couldn't see much from my window on the second floor, the mist and fog, were thick today, so thick that when the sun came up, I'd hardly noticed. These were the gray days of winter, dark and cold, damp, and short, and I was feeling all of that today. I'd laid my cardigan over the radiator at the front window to warm it, though the thin panes of glass, led in such a draughty chill, that I wasn't sure how much warmth could actually be caught on days like these. The kettle stayed hot all day,

as it was refilled and re-boiled for cup after cup of tea. Its hiss was picking up now, and I reached out with a cloth to lift it off the flame. Before it whistled, I'd already had two cups of tea. so I switched to post them just for a change, doctoring it up with milk and sugar for a boost on top of everything else. I'd run out of coffee and thought of going down to the automat. Theirs was just a nickel and so delicious.

But the world just looked too cold and dreary to get me into my coat and hat this morning. I carried my cup back to the window and reached for my cardigan, which, thankfully, was now toasty warm. I pulled it on, and the feeling of it as it wrapped over. my chilled skin was absolutely divine. I hugged myself for a moment, trying to soak up as much of the heat as I could. I heard a soft electric whine and glanced out the window to see a street car, slowly turning through the intersection, its trolley pole flexing slightly against the wire above,

through its foggy windows. I couldn't make out the faces of any passengers, just coats and hats, a mitten, pressed against a pain in the bare, back. Well, my thought, as I sipped at my drink, they got out today. Good for them. It was a Saturday, two days before Valentine's, and maybe it wasn't just the weather, making me a bit blue. My Valentine and I weren't likely to be together on the 14th. A big snowstorm out east was shutting down the trains from there to here

and they weren't expected to be up and running for another day or two at the earliest. And though I knew that the 14th of February was just a date on the calendar, and that love can be celebrated any day we choose. I had a heaviness in my heart. In fact, I laid my hand right on it, staring out through the front window of the flat,

as if I could lift it back into, place. The corners of my lips lifted just a bit as I imagined myself being seen by someone down on the street, a woman in a dimly lit window, angsty and dramatic as she clutched her heart and looked yearningly into the fog. Goodness. I was perhaps being a little theatrical. The smile turned into a chuckle. And soon my mood shifted.

Yes, it was cold and gray. But eventually those trains would get back on track, pun intended. And this little apartment would hum with a happy reunion. I took a long drink from my cup and let my eyes wander up and down the street below me. A man was knocking snow from his boots. Beside the door of the bakery,

he pulled it open for a mother with a child in a heavy coat. She had a trolley full of groceries, and at the top I could see a loaf of the dark pumper-nickel bread the bakery specialized in. The child's mittens hung by strings from the arms of their coat

as they clutched a donut in their hands. I looked toward the village green, mostly deserted today. On sunny days, the stone benches and tables would be occupied with chess players and newspaper readers. The fountain was still turned off for the winter, and I wondered if its basin was full of the marbles, that local kids dropped in when they made. a wish. Would they be trapped? Under a layer of ice? Wishes frozen till spring? I couldn't see the flower shop from my window, but I guessed it was full of red roses, this close to Valentine's. The shop below our own apartment had been a haberdashery when we'd moved in, and I'd love

Loved looking in their windows at the neat displays of handkerchiefs, gloves and ties, the racks of hats, and rows of fine socks and suspenders, but they'd outgrown the space and moved to another building across town a few months back. now the windows were covered over with newspaper. As something new was being set up in the space, at the newsstand across the street, I'd heard a rumor that it was set to become a bookshop, and I certainly hoped that was true,

how I would love to run downstairs any time I wanted another read. I was about to turn away from the window to put the kettle back on the stove. For the next cup of something hot to drink, when I spotted the postman coming down the block, his head was bowed over a stack of letters as he sorted through them. The clerk at the stationary shop stepped out to meet him

and received some letters. Then the postman paused at our building's boxes below. I pressed close to the glass, straining to look straight down and see if he had anything for me. He slotted a few envelopes into the box for the family upstairs and went back to sorting. Then, as if feeling my...

eyes on him. He took one from the bunch and looked up at me in the window and smiled. He waved it at me and winked as he tucked it into the slot, even with the cool chill of the window. I felt my cheeks heat up with a blush. Clearly he had He'd read the name of the sender, knew this was not just a letter, but a Valentine. I flew to the coat rack and stepped into my galoshes. I tied my scarf over my head as I hurried downstairs and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The postman had already gone on. to the next building.

But I wouldn't have been embarrassed if he'd seen me rush to the box. I wasn't shy about being in love. I lifted the lid and reached inside for the deer envelope. I suddenly didn't mind the cold, the gray skies, the damp air. I didn't even notice it as I opened the letter and read what my love had sent me.

Pretty lines of verse. Decorated with hand-drawn cupids and flowers. And how sweet just to see that handwriting that I knew so well. where I had been tired and nearly out of energy. I was suddenly awake and alive. I was warm from my center to my toes, and I touched the place where my love had signed the paper. Now I went back up the stairs, rereading the poem,

dreamily drifting back into the apartment and re-hanging my coat on its hook. I carried the letter to my writing desk and sat down, smoothing out the folded sheet of paper, and thinking about what I might write back. My Valentine might be home again before I could send a response through the mail, but still I could write it. I slid open the desk drawer with some difficulty. It was already full of love notes. We'd written back and forth. One day soon, something would surely get stuck in there. So prolific was our story. And I decided to take some time with another cup of tea at my side

to read back through some of the others. Maybe the ones we'd written on earlier Valentine's days before I set my own pen to paper. Sweet dreams.