On this rainy evening, I saw her leaning against the steel railing of the corridor. She wore a dark red long-sleeve dress, her empty hands resting at her sides as she stared at nothing but the white wall of our building. As far as I knew, there were no other neighbors on this floor, ever since the newlywed couple moved out.
As I walked up to her, I noticed the broken glass of wine scattered across the floor. The rhythm of rain dropped on the floor, the scent of water entwined with the rich aroma of red wine spilled across the ground…
I'm shocked, more curious now as I took in the sorrowful expression on her face, but there's something else—I sensed she's unwell.
"What's wrong with you?"
She looked at me, her dry lips parting slowly.
"I'm not feeling well."
"You...!"
She looked so weak that I couldn't stand seeing her struggle to stay upright.
"Lady, excuse me, but let me help you."
She didn't respond with words, but her body language silently gives me permission to assist. I gently lifted her into my arms, guiding her to my room, mindful of the slick wine and water pooling on the tiles, and the danger of broken glass that could cause injury.
Her warmth lingered in my hands even after I laid her down on the bed. I sit beside her, gently brushing my fingers across her forehead as I asked,
"How are you now? Is there any pain? Please, tell me."
She looked into my eyes, studying me for a moment.
"My... my stomach hurts," she whispered, her hands trembling as she tried to speak.
"...oh," I responded, unsure how to react at first.
"Could you bring me some hot water?" Her voice, soft and pleading, tugs at my heart.
"I can, I can. Just wait a moment, okay?"
She nodded quietly.
After about five minutes, the water was boiling . I carefully poured it into a glass and brought it to her, still lying in my bedroom. She's awaked, visibly in pain, doing her best to endure it.
"Here's the water."
She attempted to sit up, and I hesitated, unsure if she'd mind me helping her. She took the glass with both hands, her touch gentle, and sips slowly.
"What else can I do? Should we go to the hospital?"
Her stared hold a quiet mixture of surprise and gratitude, as if she's taken aback by the care and attention I'm showing her, yet deeply appreciative of it.
There's a vulnerability in her eyes, a hint of softness, as if she wasn't expecting someone to be so present for her in this moment of weakness. The surprise was subtle, like a quiet shock at the gentleness, while the gratitude lingers in the way her eyes soften, reflecting a silent acknowledgment of the comfort and safety she felt in my presence.
I met her gaze softly, wanting her to feel safe and supported, to trust me completely—but I couldn't find the words to express my loyalty. Time will tell.
"Can I have some hot water in a bottle?"
"Okay, wait for me."
I returned with what she asked for.
"Here it is. But what are you doing with this?"
She took the bottle and placed it gently against her stomach. I sit quietly by her side, waiting for her to feel better, hoping the warmth will bring her some relief.
"Are you feeling better?"
She nodded.
"Are you hungry? Did you eat?"
She shook her head.
"What would you like to eat? Can I make some porridge for you?"
She paused, then answers softly,
"No need. It's okay."
A hint of disappointment crossed my mind, and she noticed.
"Why? You're sick. Don't make yourself worse."
She looked away, and I swallowed the words I wanted to say.
"Try to get some sleep. I'll make something for you."
She glanced back at me but didn't say a word.
After finishing my chores in the kitchen I stood by the door, watching as she drifted to sleep. She looked so tired, fragile. Quietly, I entered the room and tucked the blanket around her. She stirred, her body and lips moving, but no words reached me. Her beautiful eyes were closed in rest, though her eyelids fluttered faintly. I couldn't tear my peer away from her.
"Lady..." I whispered.
In the silence, perhaps she was just speaking in her sleep, somniloquy.
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed, drawn closer in a way both gradual and unexpected—an unspoken bond forming as she opened up to me, sharing her darkest, most vulnerable moments. Some may see it as a burden, but to me, it has become a cherished part of my life.
Her scent soothes my restless soul, and her breath was a lullaby that cradles me into peace.
***
"Hello!"
I didn't remember when I fell asleep beside her. A moment later, I woke up to the sound of her soft voice calling me. I lifted my head, feeling a wave of dizziness.
"Hey!" she said again, her voice gentle.
"Oph!"
She seemed more refreshed, looking better, though her lips were still dry as she rested against the bed's headboard. I stand up and ask.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Err... yeah."
"That's great!"
"Are you hungry?"
She nodded and smiled.
"Can I check your temperature?"
She nodded again, as if considering it. I touched her forehead, relieved to find the fever has lowered.
"It was not as hot as earlier. Would you like to come out and have some porridge?"
"You really made it?"
"Yes, I did."
She looked at me with gratitude, unsure of how to respond. Rather than waiting for her to speak, I decided to prepare the porridge at the table.
She emerged from the bedroom just as I'm finishing up our late dinner—it's already 10 p.m. I've prepared porridge, fried fish, and some milk for her, while I've made rice and soup for myself.
"Sit down."
"Thank you!"
"Take it easy, eat slowly."
"Yes, and… do you live alone?" she finally asks, her curiosity piqued.
"Yes, I do. And you?"
"Same."
She didn't press further, and I hesitated to ask more, unsure if it's the right time. She still seems drained, so I decided it's best to let her recharge first.
***
"It's delicious, you're a great cook." She said
"No, I'm not."
She chuckled, and I couldn't help but laugh along.
"If you're still feeling sick, you can just stay here."
"No, I can't. But thanks anyway."
"Why? You live alone, what if something happens again?"
"It won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
Her response seemed uncertain, as if she hadn't fully thought it through.
"I'm fine, and I need to change."
"Change what?... Oh, sorry!"
I realized what I had said as soon as it left my mouth.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on your personal matters. But I do worry about you."
She suddenly goes still, falling quiet for a brief moment. I feel a little uneasy, unsure of what to say next.
"I really did appreciate everything you've done for me, but…"
I set my spoon down on the table slowly, noticing how she stiffened, her eyes scanning me with uncertainty, sensing that something was off between us.
"But what?" I pressed, my voice softer now.
She hesitated, her glance drifting to the side.
"Just… don't push any further. Please."
Her tone was quiet but firm, like a boundary being drawn.
I couldn't hide the disappointment on my face, the despondency hit me harder than I expected. She caught it, her eyes softening before she slowly pushed her food away, her appetite vanishined. I swallowed, then spoke, my voice a little shakier than I intended.
"I didn't want to live with regret, you know? I didn't want to hold myself back from something I feel is real, something I want."
She looked at me, her expression unreadable.
"With… me?"
I nodded, meeting her gaze.
"Yes. With you."
She remained silent, her eyes searching mine, as if weighing my words, her own thoughts unreadable. The air in our midst felt thick, a mix of uncertainty and something more vulnerable.
We sit facing each other in silence, the air heavy between us. I could feel the weight of everything unspoken, the things I wanted to say but couldn't seem to find the words for. I know it's hard for her to talk about what she really feels, what she really means to me. But she chose silence instead.
She didn't want to hurt me, I'm sure of it. I could see it in the way she avoided my eyes, the way her hands fidgeted. She wanted to leave my house so badly, yet something kept her here, lingering in this quiet tension. If she leaves now, I suspect she'll regret it. That's what I think, at least.
But I can't help wondering—what is it that's keeping her closed off like this? Why did she keep herself locked away, afraid to open up? Was it something from her past, some psychological trauma she's carrying with her? A broken heart that never truly healed? Or is it something else entirely, something deeper, that was making her feel trapped in this agony?
I wanted to be with her. I wanted to hold her close, comfort her, and let her rest against me all night. I desperately long to wrap my arms around her, to make her feel safe. But right now, I can't. I hold myself back, afraid that my presence in her life might make things worse. I feared I could become a burden, a weight on her soft, vulnerable heart that she's struggling to protect.
Maybe it's not the right time.
We've only known each other for such a short while, after all. I needed to step back, give her the space she deserves, and just watch from a distance. We didn't even know each other's names, or the surface details of our backgrounds. There's so much more to understand before anything else can happen. For now, it's better if I remained in the shadows, letting her breathe and figure things out on her own.
"I'm sorry,"
I raised my voice, breaking the silence. She seemed taken aback, perhaps surprised—or maybe she was about to say the same thing herself?
"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable," I added quickly. She stared at me, still stunned, as if trying to process my words.
"No, I should be the one apologizing," she responded softly. I shook my head.
"No, don't say that. Don't overthink it."
"You helped me... and I just made things harder for you," she murmured, her voice laced with guilt.
"Helping you was my choice," I say firmly. "It had nothing to do with you."
She nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond, her gaze softening.
"Oh..."
"Let's finish our meal, then get some rest," I suggest gently, trying to ease the tension.
As hours passed in silence, the day's dust settled, covering the skyline until dawn's light broke, casting shadows and soft hues across the city.
Continued...