I bought shawarma for a homeless man and his dog on a cold winter night. It appeared to be a small act of kindness at the moment. However, when he handed me a note hinting at a past I had completely forgotten, I realized this was no ordinary encounter.
I worked at a sporting goods shop inside a mall downtown. After 17 years of marriage, two teenagers, and many late shifts, I believed nothing could catch me off guard. But life is unpredictable like that.
That day had been especially difficult because holiday shoppers demanded refunds for worn items. Additionally, a cash register kept jamming, and my daughter Amy had texted me about failing another math test. We definitely needed to think about hiring a tutor.
All those things were on my mind when my shift ended. Worse, the temperature had dropped to a freezing level outside. The outside thermometer read 26.6°F.
The wind howled between buildings, blowing papers across the sidewalk as I stepped outside. I pulled my coat tighter, dreaming of the warm bath waiting for me at home.
On my way to the bus stop, I noticed the shawarma stall that had been there almost as long as I’d worked at the store. It was between a closed flower shop and a dimly lit convenience store.
Steam rose from the grill in the cool air. The smell of roasted meat and spices almost made me stop for one, but I didn’t feel like dealing with the vendor’s grumpiness today. He was a stocky man with lines permanently set in his face.
The food was quick and tasty, but I didn’t want to deal with his attitude.
Nevertheless, I paused when I saw a homeless man and his dog approaching the stand. The man, probably around 55, looked cold and clearly hungry as he stared at the rotating meat.
He wore a thin coat, and his dog looked underfed without fur. My heart ached for both of them.
“Are you going to order something or just stand there?” the vendor’s sharp voice startled me.
The homeless man gathered his courage. “Sir, please. Just some hot water?” he asked, shoulders hunched.
Sadly, I knew what the vendor would say before he even spoke. “Get out of here! This isn’t charity!” he barked.
As the dog moved closer to its owner, I saw the man slump a little. That’s when my grandmother’s face flashed into my mind.
She had told me stories about her tough childhood and how a single act of kindness had saved her family from starvation. I’d never forgotten that lesson. Though I couldn’t always help, her words came to mind:
“Kindness costs nothing but can change everything.”
I spoke before I realized it. “Two coffees and two shawarmas.”
The vendor nodded and prepared my order quickly. “Eighteen dollars,” he said coldly as he placed everything on the counter.
I handed over the cash, grabbed the bag and tray, and hurried to catch up with the homeless man.
When I handed him the food, his hands trembled.
“God bless you, child,” he whispered.
I nodded awkwardly, eager to return home and escape the cold. But his raspy voice made me pause.
“Wait.” I turned to see him take out a pen and paper, scribble something quickly, then hold it out to me. “Read this at home,” he said with a strange smile.
I nodded, slipping the note into my coat pocket. My thoughts were already drifting to waiting for the bus and what I’d make for dinner.
That night at home, life continued as usual. My son Derek needed help with his science project. Amy complained about her math teacher. My husband Tom talked about a new case at his law firm.
The note stayed forgotten in my coat pocket until the next evening when I was gathering laundry.
I unfolded the crumpled paper and read the message:
“Thank you for saving my life. You don’t realize it, but you have already saved it once before.”
Below was a date from three years earlier and the name “Lucy’s Café.”
The clothes I was holding almost slipped from my hands. Lucy’s had been my usual lunch spot before it closed.
And suddenly, I remembered that day clearly. It was during a storm when many people sought shelter inside.
A man had stumbled in. His soaked clothes and the desperate look in his eyes told me he needed more than just food.
No one paid him any attention except for me. The waitress almost turned him away, but just like that evening, I remembered my grandmother’s voice.
So, I bought him coffee and a croissant.
I told him to have a good day and shared my brightest smile. It seemed simple… or so I thought.
But it was the same man, and my heart broke again. His life hadn’t improved, yet he remembered my kindness. Was giving food once every few years enough?
That night, I couldn’t sleep with the thoughts racing through my mind.
The next day, I left work early.
Luckily, he was nearby, huddled in a corner hugging his dog. The dog wagged his tail when he saw me.
“Hello,” I said. “I read your note. I can’t believe you remember that day.”
The man looked up, surprised, and gave a fragile smile. “You’re a bright spot in a tough world, child. You’ve saved me twice now.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t. I just gave some food and showed basic kindness. I want to do more. Can I help you for real?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because everyone deserves a second chance, a true one.”
He nodded, and I told him to come with me.
There was a lot to do to help him rebuild his life. With my husband being a lawyer, I knew we could assist. I wanted to get to know him better, so I took him to a café, introduced myself properly, and learned his name was Victor.
Over two coffees, some berry pie, and a treat for his dog Lucky, Victor shared his story. He’d been a truck driver with a wife and daughter.
One rainy night, a car swerved into his lane. The crash shattered his leg and caused heavy medical bills. When he couldn’t find another job, his wife took their daughter and left.
Despite his injuries, his employer refused to pay disability benefits. Eventually, depression took over.
He admitted, “That day at Lucy’s, I was planning to end it all. But you smiled and treated me like a human. That gave me another day. Then another. Then more. I found Lucky abandoned, and I kept going. I wasn’t so alone anymore.”
Tears rolled down his face. “Now you’re here again,” he finished. “Just when this bad weather made me think about giving Lucky up.”
I shook my head, tears coming into my eyes. “No. You don’t have to do that. I’m here. Lucky isn’t leaving without you.”
That night, I contacted a local shelter and booked a place for Victor and his dog.
I also started a GoFundMe for clothes and essentials. My children helped with social media posts. One of Tom’s colleagues specializing in disability law agreed to help Victor for free.
We also helped him replace stolen documents, which had been taken while he slept on a bench.
It took a month to find him a proper apartment near the shelter. With a new address, he got a job in a warehouse. His supervisor allowed Lucky inside, and the dog quickly became part of the morning crew.
The following year, on my birthday, I was surprised when Victor showed up at my door holding a chocolate cake from a local bakery.
He looked clean-shaven, dressed nicely, and his smile radiated confidence. Lucky wore a new red collar.
His eyes shone with gratitude. “You’ve saved my life three times now—at the café, at the shawarma stand, and through everything you’ve done since. I wanted to bring you this cake, but it’s really the least I could do for the hero born on this day.”
I invited him inside, fighting tears, and we shared cake with my family. I thought about how close I had come to walking past him that cold night, too caught up in my own worries to notice someone else’s pain.
How many others out there are waiting for someone to see them?
That’s why I often tell Amy and Derek my grandmother’s words: always be kind and take every chance to make the world a little less harsh.
You never know if your small act could be a lifeline for someone in need.