Unexpected Encounter

Frustrated, I resorted to tapping the heels of my shoes against the floor, hoping to rouse the slouched figure blocking my path. However, my attempts proved futile as he remained undisturbed, his back leaning against the door, and his chin tucked into his chest.
Surveying the corridor, I found no one to assist me in moving this human blockade. Opening the door seemed impractical since it would send him tumbling inside. Uncertain of his identity, he could be anyone—an intoxicated individual stumbling around after a heavy night of drinking.
He could have been a beggar, but considering the building's reputation, that assumption seemed unlikely. His appearance also contradicted the typical image of a beggar. Surveying the empty corridor, I speculated that Carl might be the sole resident of this building.
Despite multiple attempts to awaken or move the man blocking my way, my initial enthusiasm dwindled, drained by the physical and mental toll of the situation. Left with no other options, I decided to sit beside him, feeling a strange camaraderie between two seemingly misplaced individuals—whether beggars or drunkards, the label hardly mattered.
Summoning the last reserves of my energy, I tried once more to rouse him. "Wake up, man," I uttered, the echoes of my voice evaporating like wisps of transparent liquid, dissipating into the air and reaching his ears.
In the same breeze, I caught some fragmented syllables that whispered into my ears. Raising my gaze, I locked eyes with him, though his eyelids still shielded the mystery within.
My throat tightened, and my lips struggled to form the words that had just floated in the air. Desperately attempting to decipher the vague and fragmented syllables, my mind worked overtime to solve this puzzle. The effort was akin to cracking a hard nut.
Shifting onto my knees, I clutched his shoulders, shaking his body as if he were Aladdin's lamp, hoping to awaken the dormant jinn that would unravel the enigma. Ironically, it seemed to work. With a shake, the jinn awoke, and the pieces of the puzzle effortlessly fell into place.
"Bella."
"Bella," he repeated in a dazed voice, and every syllable reached my ears with clarity, carrying a softness that felt like he had just uttered honey. Taking a moment to appreciate the melodic, soothing, and hypnotic quality of his voice, I couldn't help but notice a stream of sorrow that accompanied it.
My discombobulated expression resembled that of a confused math teacher faced with an unsolvable equation. His face exuded calmness intertwined with years-long sadness. Despite my best attempts, I couldn't decipher the code of his emotions just by staring at his sleeping face – I wasn't a master in the art of reading faces, especially those of inebriated strangers.
Who was Bella?
Did they break up?
Did she leave him?
Did he lose her?
Questions stormed my mind, each interpretation giving rise to more uncertainties. My head swirled with confusion, a maze of unanswered queries.
My exhaustion battled against my curiosity to learn more about this mysterious person. I yearned for nights spent unraveling the secrets of his face and listening to the music of his soothing voice. It was the perfect symphony for my ears, a melody I could listen to endlessly. However, at this moment, my desire for rest triumphed. All I craved was to collapse on my bed, let sleep take over, and allow the tiredness to dissipate like the morning dew in the gentle breeze.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated, breaking the silence with a fast-paced rhythm. It was a rare occurrence, and I answered with a voice barely audible, "Hey, Carl."
His response conveyed a surprising level of calmness, as if encountering someone inebriated outside his door was a routine occurrence for him. "Oh, don't worry about him," he casually replied.
My mind jolted. "Wait—what? You're asking me not to worry? You're telling your sister not to worry about finding a man in his condition, not to mention the circumstances?"
"He's Arthur, Grace. My neighbor. He's a nice man. You just move him a little aside and manage to get inside anyway. He'll not harm you."
Oh, so his name's Arthur. I liked his name. The moment I got to know about it, I liked it right away. It had a certain charm, something that resonated with me.
"Okay," I hung up the phone and scrutinized his peaceful sleeping face. It was time to put my strength to the test. I boosted my confidence, stood up, and dusted off my hands.
I bent over his shoulders, grabbed them firmly, and exerted all my strength to push his body aside. To my surprise, he didn't budge, not even a slight movement.
A temporary sense of relief washed over me, but I knew this respite was short-lived. The challenge of getting inside remained, and Arthur seemed to be a formidable obstacle in my way.
I sighed, realizing that my initial attempt wasn't enough. Arthur's slumber was deep, and my attempts to move him aside proved futile. With a determined spirit, I crouched down and tried a different approach.
"Come on, Arthur, you're blocking my way," I muttered under my breath, as if he could hear my plea. I leaned my shoulder against his, attempting to nudge him in the opposite direction. It seemed like I was trying to move a boulder; Arthur was an immovable force.
In a last-ditch effort, I decided to go for a gentler tactic. I tapped his shoulder lightly and called out, "Hey, Arthur, wake up. You're in my doorway, and I need to get inside."
To my surprise, Arthur stirred. His eyelids fluttered, and he let out a low groan. I took this as a sign of progress, but as he mumbled something incoherent, it was clear he was still in a half-asleep daze.
"Arthur, can you move a bit? I need to unlock the door," I urged, hoping my polite request would be met with cooperation.
He shifted slightly, creating just enough space for me to squeeze through the door. Seizing the opportunity, I swiftly unlocked the door and slipped inside. Glancing back, I saw Arthur already settling back into his peaceful slumber.