Knocking At Your Door
This is a short story with an unexpected twist at the end.
I woke up to the sound of knocking on my door. It was early in the morning, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. I groggily made my way to the front door, wondering who could be bothering me at this hour.
As I opened the door, I was surprised to see an old woman standing in front of me. She was dressed in ragged clothes, and her face was wrinkled with age. She looked up at me with pleading eyes and said, “Please, can you help me?”
I felt a tug at my heartstrings and invited her inside. I made her a cup of tea and sat down with her to hear her story. She told me that she had been living on the streets for the past few months and had nowhere to go. She had lost her home and her family, and was now all alone in the world.
I listened to her with empathy and tried to comfort her. I offered her some food and a place to sleep, and she gratefully accepted. As the day passed, we talked and shared stories, and I learned about her life and struggles.
As the night fell, I made her a bed on the couch, and she soon fell asleep. I watched her as she slept, feeling a sense of peace and fulfillment in my heart. I knew that I had made a difference in someone’s life, even if it was just for one night.
The next morning, I woke up to find that she was gone. I searched the house, but she was nowhere to be found. I wondered if I had dreamt the whole thing, but I knew it was real. I felt a sense of loss and sadness, wondering what had happened to her.
Days turned into weeks, and I forgot about the old woman. Life went on as usual, and I got caught up in my own problems and struggles. But then one day, I received a letter in the mail.
It was from the old woman. She had written to thank me for my kindness and generosity. She wrote that my act of kindness had given her hope and strength to go on. She had found a job and a place to live, and was now doing well.
I was overjoyed to hear that she was doing well, and felt a sense of pride in my heart. I had made a difference in someone’s life, and that was all that mattered.
But then, as I was about to put the letter away, I noticed something strange. The letter was addressed to someone else. It wasn’t meant for me. I was confused and wondered how the letter had ended up in my mailbox.
And then it hit me. The old woman had never knocked on my door. She had never come into my house. It was all just a dream. A dream that had felt so real, so vivid, that I had believed it was true.
I sat down, feeling a mix of emotions. I felt foolish for believing in a dream. But at the same time, I felt grateful for the experience. It had taught me that kindness and empathy could make a real difference in someone’s life, even if it was just a dream.
As I looked out the window, I saw an old woman walking down the street. She looked up and caught my eye, and I felt a jolt of recognition. It was the woman from my dream. She smiled and waved, and then walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
I realized that it didn’t matter whether the old woman was real or just a dream. What mattered was that I had learned a valuable lesson, and that I had the power to make a difference in someone’s life. And that was all that truly mattered.
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