I remember the frigid winter evening when I bought shawarma for a homeless man and his dog. It was a small act of kindness, or so I thought. But when he handed me a note, hinting at a forgotten connection, I realized this was no ordinary encounter.
At that time, my life had become predictable. 17 years of marriage, raising two teenagers, and endless shifts at a sporting goods store had made my days mundane. As I trudged towards the bus stop that bitterly cold evening at 26°F, all I could think about were work hassles, my daughter’s struggles in math, and the constant juggle of parenting and bills.
As I passed by the familiar shawarma stand, I noticed a homeless man and his shivering dog. They were gazing longingly at the steaming meat, and my heart went out to them. His thin coat and the dog’s lack of fur tugged at my heartstrings. When he timidly asked the vendor for hot water, the sharp rebuff – “GET OUT OF HERE! This ain’t no charity!” – was like a blow that echoed in the icy air.
I couldn’t ignore it. My grandmother’s voice rang in my mind, “Kindness costs nothing but can change everything.” Without hesitation, I ordered two shawarmas and coffees. When I handed him the food, his gratitude was palpable. “God bless you,” he whispered.
As I turned to leave, he stopped me and scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Read it at home,” he said with a peculiar smile. Intrigued but weary, I slipped the note into my pocket and hurried home, ready to bury myself in the chaos of family life.
It wasn’t until the next evening, while gathering clothes for laundry, that I rediscovered the crumpled note. Written in shaky handwriting, it read, “Thank you for saving my life. You don’t know this, but you’ve already saved it once before.” Below it was a date from three years ago and the name “Lucy’s Café.” A chill ran through me as the memory resurfaced. On that rainy day years ago, I had noticed a man who looked utterly broken in the bustling café. He was drenched, desperate, and ignored by everyone. Following my grandmother’s advice, I had bought him coffee and a croissant, offering a warm smile as I left. I hadn’t thought about it since, but clearly, he had.
The man’s gratitude haunted me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to do more. The next day, I sought him out. He was sitting near the shawarma stand, huddled with his dog. I approached him cautiously, smiling. “Hi, I read your note. I can’t believe you remembered that day.”