Winter Whispers: A Heartfelt Tale
Note: This is my entry for the
Winter Holidays Story Contest 2023
contest. This story primarily treads along romantic and sentimental lines. I would greatly appreciate your votes and feedback. Feel free to comment or reach out to me directly. Thank you!!
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"John, can you please include this information in our presentation next week for the executives?" said Raj as he strode along the suburban sidewalk, his phone pressed to his ear as he deftly navigated around what looked like black ice.
It was a late November morning in the quiet suburbs of Washington, D.C. The crunching of thin layer of ice beneath his feet accompanied his conversation with colleagues in a meeting. Raj, a 43-year-old, 6-foot-tall man with a receding hairline, a trim beard that was turning more salt than pepper, and a bit more than 200 pounds on his frame, was the epitome of a busy professional.
As he passed by his neatly maintained home, he couldn't help but notice his new neighbor, Joan, three doors down, mounting holiday lights on top of her garage, standing over a tall step stool. She was a woman in her early forties. He didn't know much about her, just that she was the mother of three children, two in college, and one, Judy, who attended the same high school as his daughter, Keerti.
He smiled and offered a polite wave as he continued his conversation. It was a silent acknowledgment of their neighborly connection, but nothing more.
But as Raj crossed her door, still engrossed in the call, he was suddenly jolted by the sound of someone falling, followed by a painful "Ouch!" It was Joan.
She had tripped over climbing down the step stool and now sat on the ground, her hand bleeding slightly from a scrape.
For a brief moment, Raj hesitated, torn between the demands of work and the impulse to help.
Putting his call on mute, he asked Joan, "Do you need some help?"
"Nah, just a scratch. Thanks for asking," she said as she dusted off her hands and tried to get up.
"Ahh," she exclaimed.
Yet when he saw Joan struggling to get up and noticed that no one else was around to assist her, he made the decision to end his call. He couldn't ignore a neighbor in need.
Quickly, he rushed over and offered his hand to Joan. "Maybe I do need it," she said, taking his hand and getting to her feet.
"Can you walk?" he asked, unsure of her status. He made a mental calculation that Joan was maybe five feet seven or eight inches and probably around the one-forty-pound mark, giving himself a mental go-ahead in case he needed to carry her.
"Urgh," she grunted as she tried to put some weight on her twisted ankle and failed at it.
As it became evident that her ankle had taken a painful twist, he decided to carry her into her house to provide proper care.
He carried her into her house through the open garage door.
Just past the cozy, sunlit kitchen of Joan's home, he saw a sofa and a loveseat in their living room.
He gently set her down on the loveseat, making sure that both her legs were placed on it. Her face showed a mixture of gratitude and discomfort.
"Thanks," she began to say when he cut her off with, "Where do you keep the first-aid kit?"
"In the pantry, right corner," was followed by a "Got it."
He got the basket with the first-aid kit and examined her scraped hand, gingerly applying antiseptic.
"Ouch, that stings," Joan said, her voice a mix of pain and a soft chuckle.
Raj offered an apologetic smile, "I know, but it's the only way to make sure it doesn't get infected. You're doing great, Joan."
Then he carefully wrapped her injured ankle in tape. She winced a little as he worked, but his touch was gentle, and his quiet competence put her at ease.
"Thanks for helping me," Joan said, her eyes meeting Raj's. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here."
Raj offered a warm smile, "It's no trouble at all. Neighbors look out for each other, right?"
As Raj went to return the first-aid kit and wash his hands, he noticed a smear of blood on his shirt.
"She didn't touch me here...yet," he mused. Returning to Joan, he pointed at the stain and said, "You have another injury, Joan."
"I didn't realize," she murmured, and together they searched for the source of the blood.
"Here," Raj identified, spotting a wound on her thigh just above her right knee.
Joan wore tight black yoga pants beneath a sports t-shirt. Unsure of how to proceed, Raj hesitated.
Sensing his uncertainty, Joan gently lifted her hips, indicating for him to assist her.
With Joan's permission, Raj helped slide her pants down past her knees and professionally attended to the wound.
"There," he remarked, securing a bandage around her thigh. After tidying the living room and washing his hands, he returned to Joan's side.
Only then did he truly take her in, appreciating her athletic physique and attractive features.
Her shoulder-length brunette hair was pulled back into a ponytail, complemented by two slim, large hoop earrings.
As he gazed into her large, expressive light brown eyes and took in her radiant smile, a realization dawned on him, "She looks so much like Anne Hathaway."
The sight of her in a t-shirt, which barely covered her well-defined 36B breasts, left him thinking, "Stunner."
Her yoga pants were now bunched below her knees, revealing black panties.
He quickly tried to shift his focus elsewhere, attempting to stifle the noticeable change in his posture and pants.
Joan, realizing she too was inadvertently assessing him, broke the silent stare by clearing her throat after allowing a moment of shared acknowledgment.
Embarrassed by his own behavior and eager to change the topic, Raj launched into a volley of questions, trying to draw attention away from the previous moments.
"So, Joan, where did you all move from? What are your kids studying? I don't recall meeting your husband after you initially moved in; what's he up to? And what do you do when you're not dabbling in gardening?"
Joan chuckled lightly, catching onto his intentions.
