There was no way not to stare at her. I hadn’t come across such a beautiful and elegant woman in our neighborhood for a long time. She was probably not from around here. I felt like enjoying her presence a little longer, so I followed her. Don’t think I’m a womanizer. I rarely trail after beauties like a puppy. But there was something truly strange—she looked exquisite despite the problem. I’ll explain everything now.

She wasn’t tall, probably no more than five foot five. The long black dress emphasized the curves of her body, especially her slim waist and firm backside. Her breasts weren’t large, but they tempted with their rounded shapes. Her hair was incredible—a copper-blond waterfall spilling over her shoulders. Her sweet face was cheerful, and her full lips often twitched into a smile, suggesting pleasant thoughts drifting through her mind. The eyes I’d glimpsed only for a moment were coffee-colored. Her maturity suggested she was around thirty, yet there was a girlish charm about her. The more I watched her, the more convinced I became that many men must have fallen in love with her. Whom had she chosen, if she had chosen anyone at all? And now, about the mobility problem that couldn’t be overlooked.

She moved with the help of crutches—a pair of aluminum forearm crutches with gray grips and gray cuffs under the elbows. Yes, she couldn’t put weight on her left leg, but her movements were elegant, almost like a dance. A strange sight, truly. She leaned and hopped in a smooth, effortless way, her good leg moving forward deftly and landing softly. The heel of her shoe clicked, and beneath the hem of the dress, a rounded heel briefly appeared, pleasantly pink. Her hands held the crutch grips firmly yet calmly. There was none of the typical helpless swaying I had seen in other people with injured lower limbs. That led me to think she had been walking like this for quite some time.