I Accidentally Walked Into The Wrong Apartment — And The Woman Inside Already Knew My Coffee Order
Part 2
I stared at Megan, unable to form a single coherent thought as the heavy rain continued to batter the window behind her.
My mind flashed back to that freezing night in January.
The fluorescent lights had reflected harshly off the thick ice covering the asphalt.
I had seen an older woman struggling desperately to carry four heavy grocery bags across the treacherous parking lot.
I had simply walked over, taken all four bags from her freezing hands without asking, and walked her safely all the way to her front door.
It had taken maybe five minutes of my life.
I had not thought about that incredibly brief evening a single time since it happened.
I certainly had no idea that anyone else had been watching me from the safety of a parked car.
“You saw that?” I finally managed to whisper.
She looked down at her coffee mug, her expression softening.
“I had gone inside the store right when the snow started,” she explained quietly.
“By the time I got back to the exit, the entire lot was iced over and I was trying to figure out how to get to my car without falling.”
“And then I saw you come out of the doors and walk straight over to her.”
She took a very small, deliberate breath.
“You took all four bags and you didn’t hand even one back to her.”
“I know how incredibly alarming this must sound out loud,” she added quickly.
I let out a quiet, breathless laugh that escaped before I could stop it.
“Honestly, I am still working out exactly how it sounds.”
The apartment grew quiet again, but it was not the suffocating kind of quiet I was used to.
It was a comfortable, shared silence.
Megan stood up gracefully and went into the kitchen without asking.
She returned ten minutes later carrying two steaming bowls of homemade chicken and vegetable soup.
She set one directly in front of me as if feeding a total stranger at ten o’clock at night was the most natural thing in the world.
The soup was incredible.
It warmed me in a profound way that had absolutely nothing to do with its temperature.
Sitting across from her at that small table, I finally noticed the massive difference between this and my own apartment.
I noticed how a genuine conversation fills a room entirely differently than silence does.
We stayed at that table talking for a very long time after our bowls were completely empty.
When I finally stood up to leave, I felt the distinct, jarring sensation of stepping out of a perfect temperature that I hadn’t noticed until the moment I was leaving it.
Megan walked me slowly to the front door.
I put my damp boots back on and slung my heavy backpack over my shoulder.
I looked at her for a long moment, wanting desperately to ask for her number.
But the old habit of not interrupting grabbed hold of me.
I just awkwardly said goodnight, walked out the door, and took the stairs down to my own floor.
I walked into my apartment and sat down heavily on my couch in the pitch dark.
The refrigerator hummed its usual, lonely tune.
The empty chair sat exactly where it always sat across from the dining table.
I had just walked away from the only person who had truly seen me in four years.
Why do I always let myself fade into the background instead of taking a chance?
