One winter’s night, I bought shawarma for a homeless man and his dog. At the time, it seemed like a simple act of kindness. But when he passed me a note alluding to a past I had completely forgotten, I knew it wasn’t just any ordinary encounter.
I worked in a sports shop in a shopping center in the city center. After 17 years of marriage, two teenagers and countless night shifts, I thought nothing could surprise me. But that’s how curious life is.
That day had been particularly tough because the Christmas shoppers were demanding refunds on items they had clearly used. On top of that, one of the tills kept jamming and my daughter Amy had sent me a text message saying she had failed another maths exam. We definitely needed to think about hiring a tutor.
All these things were going through my head when my shift ended. Worse still, the temperature had dropped to chilling levels. The thermometer outside the shop read -3°C.
The wind howled between the buildings, whipping loose papers along the pavement as I left. I pulled my coat tighter, dreaming of the hot bath I would prepare at home.
On my way to the bus, I saw the shawarma stand that had been there almost as long as I had worked in the shop. It was between a closed florist’s and a dark grocery store.
Steam rose from the metal surface of the grill into the warm air. The aroma of roasted meat and spices almost made me stop to eat one. But I didn’t particularly like the vendor. He was a stocky man with a permanently furrowed brow.
The food was good, and you could get your shawarma in two seconds, but today I wasn’t in the mood for grumbling.
But I still stopped when I saw a homeless man and his dog approaching the stall. The man, about 55 years old, looked cold and definitely hungry as he stared at the rotating meat.
The man was wearing a thin coat, and the poor puppy had no hair. My heart broke for them.
“Are you going to order something or are you just going to stand there?” the vendor’s sharp voice startled me.
I watched the homeless man gather his courage. ‘Sir, please. Just some hot water?’ he asked with his shoulders hunched.
Unfortunately, I knew the vendor’s response even before he said it. “GET OUT OF HERE! This isn’t charity!” he shouted.
As the dog approached its owner, I saw the man’s shoulders slump. It was then that the face of my grandmother came to mind.
I had grown up with stories about her hard childhood and she had told me that a single act of kindness had saved her family from starvation. I had never forgotten that lesson and, although I couldn’t always help, her words came to mind:
“Kindness costs nothing but it can change everything.”
I spoke without realizing it. “Two coffees and two shawarmas.”
The vendor nodded and worked at lightning speed. “Eighteen dollars,” he said flatly as he placed my order on the counter.
I handed over the money, picked up the takeaway bag and a tray, and hurried after the homeless man.
When I gave him the food, his hands trembled.
“God bless you, child,” he whispered.
I nodded awkwardly, ready to hurry home and get away from the cold. But his harsh voice stopped me.
“Wait.” I turned and saw her take out a pen and paper and scribble something quickly, then hand it to me. ‘Read it at home,’ she said with a strange smile.
I nodded and put the note in my pocket. My mind was already elsewhere, wondering if there would be seats on the bus and what I would make for dinner.
***
That night, at home, life went on as usual. My son, Derek, needed help with his science project. Amy was complaining about her maths teacher. My husband, Tom, was talking about a new client at his law firm.
The note remained forgotten in my coat pocket until I started to gather the clothes for the next night’s wash.
I opened the crumpled paper and read the message:
“Thank you for saving my life. You don’t know it, but you already saved it once.”
Below the message was a date from three years ago and the name “Lucy’s Café”.
The clothes I was holding almost slipped out of my hands. Lucy’s had been my usual place to eat before it closed.
And suddenly, I remembered that day clearly. There was a storm and many people entered the café looking for shelter.
A man had stumbled in. His clothes were soaked and his gaze told me that he was desperate, not just for food. For something more.
No one looked at him, except me. The waitress was about to turn him away, but, just like the other day, I had heard my grandmother’s voice.
So I bought him a coffee and a croissant.
I wished him a good day and shared my brightest smile with him. He was nothing special… or so I thought.
It was the same man, and my heart broke all over again. It was clear that his life hadn’t improved, but he remembered my kindness. But was it enough to eat once every few years?
I couldn’t sleep that night with that thought running through my head.
The next day, I left work early.
Luckily, I was near the shawarma stand, huddled in a corner, hugging his dog. The adorable puppy wagged its tail when it saw me.
“Hi,” I smiled. ”I read the note. I can’t believe you remembered that time.”
The man looked up, surprised to see me, and gave me a brittle smile. “You’re a bright spot in a harsh world, girl, and you’ve already saved me twice.”
“I didn’t,” I shook my head. “It was just some food and basic human decency. I want to do more. Will you let me help you, really?”
“Why would you?”
“Because everyone deserves a second chance, a real one.”
He nodded and I told him to follow me.
There was a lot to do to help him get back on his feet, and as my husband was a lawyer, I knew we could help him. But first I wanted to get to know him, so I invited him for a coffee, introduced myself properly and learned his name was Victor.
Over two cups of coffee, a shared slice of berry pie and a treat for his dog, Lucky, Victor told me how he had lost everything. He had been a truck driver, had a wife and a daughter.
One rainy night, a car swerved into his lane. The accident left him with a shattered leg and a crushing medical debt. Unable to find another job, his wife left with their daughter for good.
Despite his injuries, his company refused to pay him disability benefits. And finally, depression swallowed him whole.
“That day at Lucy’s,” he confessed, cupping his coffee, ”I thought about ending it all. But you smiled at me. You treated me like a human being. That gave me one more day. Then another. Then another. In the end, I found Lucky abandoned, and I moved on. I didn’t feel so alone.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “And now here you are again,” she finished. “Just when this bad weather made me wonder if I should let someone adopt my dog.”
I shook my head as tears filled my eyes. ”No, you don’t have to. I’m here. Lucky won’t go anywhere without you.”
***
That night I contacted a local shelter and got a place for Victor and his dog.
I also set up a GoFundMe to get new clothes and essential items. My children helped create the social media posts. In addition, one of Tom’s colleagues specialized in disability benefits litigation and was willing to take Victor’s case pro bono.
Once resolved, we helped Victor replace his identity and important documents, which had been stolen while he was sleeping on a park bench.
It took us another month to find him a suitable room to rent near the shelter. With a new address, he got a job in a factory warehouse, where his supervisor allowed Lucky in; the dog quickly became the unofficial mascot of the morning shift.
The following year, on my birthday, the doorbell rang. Victor was there, with a chocolate cake from the local bakery.
He was clean-shaven and well-dressed, and his smile radiated a confidence he had never had before. Even Lucky was wearing a new red collar.
His eyes sparkled with gratitude as he said: “You saved my life three times: in the café, at the shawarma stand and with everything you’ve done since then. I’ll never forget it. I wanted to bring you this cake, but really it’s the least I could do for the heroine who was born on this day.”
I smiled, refusing to start crying again, and invited him in.
As my family shared cake and conversation with our friend, I thought about how close I had been to walking past him that cold night, too busy with my own problems to notice other people’s pain.
How many other defenseless beings were out there waiting for someone to see them?
That’s why I often repeated my grandmother’s words to Amy and Derek, reminding them to always be kind and to take every opportunity to make the world a little less harsh.
You never know if it will be a lifeline for someone.