That afternoon, I found myself standing outside Bob’s door, hesitating before knocking. The hallway was quiet, filled with the stale scent of old carpet. I listened for any sound from within but heard nothing. My knuckles hovered over the wood, caught between concern and the invasion of his privacy.
Finally, I knocked, the sound echoing down the empty corridor.
After a pause, there was a shuffling from behind the door, and it opened just a crack. Bob’s face appeared, shadowed and tired, eyes red-rimmed.
“You okay?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
He nodded, but it was unconvincing.
“Just… tired,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
There was a hesitance in his stance, a reluctance to invite me in or to step out.
“You want to talk?”
He shook his head slightly, then glanced down the hall as if expecting someone else might be watching.
“Not now,” he murmured, the door inching shut a bit more.
“Alright,” I said, stepping back. “If you need anything…”
His nod was a mere dip of his chin before the door closed completely.
I stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of his silence, then turned and made my way back to my own apartment.
It was hard not to feel the tension in the air, the way the walls seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the next thing to happen.
Inside my apartment, I paced, glancing at the clock. The meeting with his supervisor was in less than an hour, and I wondered if he would make it.
I wanted to do more, to intervene, but the boundaries of our acquaintance felt like a wall I couldn’t breach.
I thought about calling the landlord, trying to plead Bob’s case, but I knew it would be futile.
The landlord had made his stance clear, and Bob was on his own in that regard.
All I could do was wait and hope that Bob would find his footing before it was too late.
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