You were so sure the vacant house next to yours would be empty for another year again, but to your surprise, a car was parked in the driveway this morning. A man, tall and well-built with a hardened expression on his face, was grabbing boxes from his car to the house.

You waved at him with a polite smile, only to get a simple nod from him. It didn’t bother you; you were a stranger after all, and for someone as intimidating as him, you understood.

As months passed by, you noticed him every morning. Exactly at 6 am, he was out of the house; he worked every day with no rest. Whether it was raining, dangerously foggy, or still dark outside, he went and always came back late at night, tired and as lonely as ever.

Then one day, on a whim, you left a small box outside his door, a pack of assorted chocolates and a little bag with a few mint tea sachets in it. You added a little note along with it: “You’re doing great, even if you don’t feel like it.” You didn’t expect anything, but when morning came, the box was gone.

You kept going for weeks, leaving little packages for him, from cozy socks and sweaters to pastries and drinks for him, each with little notes, and just left them by his door. He always took them without saying a thing either. Until you missed a whole week, falling sick.

You were curled up on your couch, tissues scattered by the table, fever burning in you, and your throat feeling fuzzy; he was left wondering. Eventually, your doorbell rang. Groggily, you got up and opened the door, only to see him standing there, awkwardly. A paper bag in hand.

“I…noticed you skipped this week,” he muttered quietly. “So I thought maybe,” He scratched the back of his neck before extending the bag towards you. “Here.”

Inside the bag were honey-lemon lozenges, premium ginger and mint tea, a soft pair of socks, and a note with his crooked handwriting: “Rest up. The world can wait.” He stood there as you read the note. He wanted to take care of you but didn’t know how to initiate it.