The hum of conversations and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee were a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head.
That’s when I noticed him.
The man shuffled in, wearing tattered clothes. His face had wrinkles that showed he had worked hard all his life. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and his eyes, though tired, darted around the room like he was searching for something.
I watched as he approached a few tables, speaking softly to the people seated there.
Most people shook their heads, avoided eye contact, or offered an awkward apology. Then, he stopped in front of my table.
“Excuse me,” he said politely. “Could you spare some change? Just enough for a coffee.”
I hesitated. My first instinct was to decline. Not because I didn’t care, but because I wasn’t sure how much to trust him. You know, some people are genuine while others are just looking for handouts.
But something about him felt different. He wasn’t pushy, and he looked embarrassed to be asking.
“What kind of coffee do you want?” I asked.
“Jamaican Blue Mountain,” he said, almost sheepishly. “I’ve heard it’s really good.”
I almost laughed. It was the priciest option on the menu. For a moment, I thought he might be joking. But the way he looked at me made me stop.
“Why that one?” I asked.
“It’s my birthday,” he smiled. “Always wanted to try it. Figured… why not today?”
A part of me wanted to roll my eyes.
Sure, it’s your birthday, I thought.
But another part of me decided to believe him.
“Alright,” I said, standing up. “Let’s get you that coffee.”
His face lit up with a genuine smile. “Thank you,” he said.
I didn’t just buy him the coffee, though. I added a slice of cake to the order because, honestly, what’s a birthday without cake? When I handed him the tray, I gestured to the empty chair at my table.
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