The Small Thing

You prepare a room for guests, placing small things where they can use them.
After they leave, half of the items are gone.
Each one can be replaced, but their absence still catches your attention.
You do not know whether they left with the guests, were packed by mistake, or were understood as part of the stay.
The room looks almost the same.
You pause.
A faint irritation, almost sour, lingers.