Storytelling Saturday: Of Snowdrops & Sadness

A Romantic Short Story by RiglenM

The neighborhood had always been quiet. Far enough from the city bustle to not have to wake up to the sound of morning traffic, yet close enough that you could see the brilliant lights of the thriving nightlife.

These days, however, even the city didn’t roar with that same liveliness.

The sudden outbreak — which rapidly turned into a pandemic — and the inevitable rise in death that followed seemed to mute them into a small, sad, and isolated existence.

Well, all except for Liza Jogia’s ever-chipper, annoyingly positive neighbor of two years — Anne Liu. When she wasn’t baking for the entire complex to ‘keep the spirits up’ or feeding the wandering stray cat that would otherwise never be given the time of day by anyone, she could be found tending to her impossibly beautiful garden with a large straw hat over her shoulder-length brown hair.

Liza, despite their apartments being separated by a wall and a measly white picket fence, had never paid Anne much mind. She had a personal rule about only ever interacting with people as much as what was deemed necessary, and not a pinch more. All her ex-girlfriends had made a fuss of her closed-off attitude, and more often than not, it had been the last thread in her unsteady relationships.

And yet somehow, Emotionally Constipated Liza found herself standing outside of Anne’s door with the few successful cupcakes she’d managed to salvage from the war-zone that her kitchen now was. She hoped they at least tasted good.

If you’d ever told her four weeks prior that she’d go out of her way to coax out her neighbor, she would have laughed right in your face. Yet when Anne’s weekly treats stopped coming, the cat cried inconsolably from hunger right outside Liza’s door, and worst of all, her garden shriveled into the dull and unkempt version of its former self, Liza knew something was terribly wrong.

She didn’t have to know Anne well to know her garden was something she held precious.

When Anne opened the door, Liza could not hide her surprise. She pushed her mask down and smiled as best as she could.

“Liza? Uh—” she looked around as if disoriented and struggling to concentrate. “Hi.”

Liza slowly held out the container, trying not to stare too much. Anne was pretty, with rosy cheeks, plump lips, and bright monolid eyes that always had eyeshadow and mascara accentuating them. And yet today she stood before Liza—still as pretty—only with red-rimmed eyes, purple bags, and an absent smile behind the clear visor. Hair disheveled and sweats with days-old stains, she was looking worse off than the garden. If Liza had a sudden urge to hold her, she never acknowledged it.

“These are, um… cupcakes I made. For you. Obviously,” she couldn’t shake her awkwardness as she shuffled on her feet, a faint blush on her brown skin.

“Oh, I—thank you,” she whispered breathlessly, tears suddenly filling her eyes as she stared down at the gift. She tipped her head back, blinking them away. One deep breath later and she was smiling at Liza like she’d single-handedly stopped global warming.

Anne invited her in, and for a reason Liza couldn’t comprehend, she agreed. She’d only ever been inside her apartment twice, when she was away and needed Liza to water her plants.

They sat at the table in the kitchen, Anne offering some tea before they ate the cupcakes in silence. The two found themselves on opposite sides of the couch as they watched reruns of a soap-drama on the TV. Liza never said a word, even when she could hear the sniffles and shallow breathing.

She went home that night, tucked tightly into bed yet unable to take her mind off of the girl next door. She’d always seen her as this over-joyous being who couldn’t be brought down. But that day she watched a girl who could go on a happy, long tangent about different cookies struggle to hold back cries of melancholy in the silence that blanketed them ever so delicately.

And maybe that was why she found herself back at Anne’s door with more attempts to silently comfort her. Anne never protested, always welcoming her.

They never spoke much at first, apart from mundane things, but each afternoon that they spent playing board games or watching movies saw the space between them lessening.

The ice really broke when Liza attempted to make homemade pizza and ended up with a face full of flour and a bent-over Anne, laughing while unhelpfully pointing at her face. When it died down, they worked together, occasionally joking while perfecting the mess that was their pizza.

Liza found herself holding onto a soft hand in the dark of night as The Office played as background noise to this weirdly formed friendship.

That night Anne had whispered solemnly, “My gran died a few weeks ago.”

Liza did not know what to say or do other than to let her go on.

“My parents passed when I was little so she raised me and my sister.”

Anne stood up and grabbed a photo by the television set before returning and handing it to Liza. Two young girls with pigtails smiled widely despite their lack of teeth; a refined-looking woman with a soft smile behind them.

“She taught me everything I know. Got me into gardening while other kids my age were just worrying about not getting tagged on the playground. It’s like she saw the old soul in me and cultivated it into this… blossoming flower.”

When Liza looked at her, she was fiddling with her finger, tears falling helplessly.

“I’m so sorry, Anne,” she whispered as if she was scared raising her voice any higher could break her. Her fingers slowly brushed away the tears on the apples of Anne’s cheeks.

“Even before the pandemic, I was alone. But nothing has felt more lonely than grieving in an empty apartment, several hours away from my family, and unable to be there to lay her to rest.”

Liza hadn’t expected the resentment in her voice, but she understood it. So Liza did the one thing she hadn’t even done for her mother in years. She pulled Anne close and hugged her.

“You don’t have to be alone. I’ll hold you for as long as you need me to.”

Every day that they could, from then on, they spent in each other’s company. With Anne on leave and Liza working from home, it was easy to make time.

Anne slowly picked herself up from her lowest point, while Liza held her together. Two lonely souls that could not be any more different fit together in a way that only made sense to them.

Liza found herself sharing a part of herself that she thought she never would. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t want to create a distance, but rather close it.

As the warmth of summer came closer to its end, gentle butterflies awoke in them. Not a feeling unknown, but certainly unexpected. The tender hugs and soft joining of hands became more meaningful. The moments where they’d stare into each other’s eyes instead of at the TV, more heart-stopping. The split second in which they yearned to leave no space between their lips, more frequent and breathtaking.

Liza felt herself falling in a way she never had before, watching Anne come into herself again. The positivity she once felt annoyance toward became something she felt immensely grateful for. Even though she had many moments of sadness, Anne saw the light at the end of the tunnel when no one else could.

By early fall, Liza showed up at the door with her dark hair pinned up, overalls on, and gardening supplies she barely knew how to use. Liza knew she’d do just about anything to see Anne’s face light up the way it did when she’d realized what it was meant for.

And as they planted the last of the snowdrop bulbs, they shared an unanticipated but sweet kiss. It spoke of hope and promise, and neither of them could wait to see what would bloom.

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