Kindness has a mysterious way of returning when you least expect it. For an elderly teacher, a simple act of generosity on a frosty winter day started a story that would unfold years later.
Snow was falling gently, covering the streets with a white patina and making the town a little quieter. In a cozy little diner, Mr Harrison, a retired teacher with kind eyes and thinning grey hair, sipped hot coffee while reading his tattered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.
He loved this place. It was quiet and warm and familiar. As he turned the page, he noticed the door of the diner swing open, accompanied by the sharp ringing of a bell. A boy entered, shivering with cold and stomping his feet in an attempt to keep warm.
The boy was no more than thirteen. He wore a thin jacket, too big for his small stature, and boots that seemed a size too big. His cheeks were red from the cold and his dark hair stuck to his forehead, damp from the melting snow.
Mr Harrison put down his book and watched him. The boy hesitated at the entrance and slowly made his way to the vending machine in the corner of the diner. With trembling hands he rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins, counting them carefully. His face fell as he realised it wasn’t enough to buy even a small snack.
Mr Harrison closed his book and, taking a sip of coffee, called out softly:
Excuse me, young man.
The boy flinched and looked in his direction, a look of disbelief and embarrassment on his face.
Yes?’ he answered hesitantly.
Why don’t you sit with me for a while? I could use some company,’ Mr Harrison said with a warm smile.
The boy hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.
I… I just…’ he mumbled, glancing at the vending machine.
It’s all right,’ Mr Harrison reassured him, his tone soft but firm. – ‘It’s too cold to stand here. Come on, I won’t bite.
After a few moments of hesitation, hunger and cold took over from pride. The boy nodded and slowly approached the table, keeping his hands shoved in his jacket pockets.
What’s your name? – Mr Harrison asked as the boy sat down.
Alex,’ he answered quietly, avoiding eye contact.
‘Well, Alex, I’m Mr Harrison,’ he said, holding out his hand.
Alex hesitated before shaking it. His grip was small and icy.
Now,’ Mr Harrison said, waving to the waitress, ’how about some hot food? What do you say to some soup and a sandwich?
I don’t need-’ Alex started, but Mr Harrison raised his hand, interrupting him.
No arguments. It’s on me. Besides, I could use the conversation.
The waitress soon brought a steaming bowl of chicken soup and a sandwich. Alex ate gingerly at first, but as the warmth of the food spread through his body, he began to relax. Gradually he shared bits and pieces of his life with Mr Harrison.
‘My mum works hard,’ he said in a whisper. – ‘She has two jobs, so I’m on my own after school.
It must be hard,’ Mr Harrison remarked.
Alex nodded.
She tries her best, but sometimes it’s hard.
Mr Harrison smiled understandingly.
‘You remind me of some of my students,’ he said. – Smart, determined… You have a lot of potential.
Alex blushed and lowered his gaze to his plate.
I’m not that smart…’ he muttered.
Never underestimate yourself, Alex. Sometimes all we need is a helping hand at the right moment. Just promise me something: when you’re in a position to help someone, do it. Pass the kindness on.
The boy thought for a moment, absorbing the teacher’s words. After finishing the last spoonful of soup, he looked up and mumbled:
Thank you.
Mr Harrison smiled.
You’re welcome, young man.
Seven years later.
The knock on the door was unexpected. Mr Harrison, already aged and moving with slow steps, came to the entrance of his small flat. It was winter again and the cold was creeping in through the windows.
When he opened the door, his eyes widened. Standing before him was a well-dressed young man in a fine coat and with neatly combed dark hair. In his hands he held a large basket filled with fresh fruit, bread and other delicacies.
‘Mr Harrison,’ said the young man, his voice full of emotion. – I don’t know if you remember me.
For a moment the teacher stared at the familiar face, trying to remember. Then his eyes lit up with recognition.
Alex? – he asked almost in disbelief.
The young man smiled broadly and nodded.
Yes, sir. It’s been seven years, but I still haven’t forgotten what you’ve done for me.
Mr Harrison took a step back, gesturing for him to come in.
Come in, come in! Look at you – you’ve grown so much!
Alex stepped inside, placing the basket on the table. His eyes skimmed the small, modest flat, where stacks of books stood along the walls and an old armchair stood by the window.
I found you through the diner,’ Alex explained. – The owner remembered you and helped me find you. I wanted to return the kindness you showed me that cold night.
Mr Harrison looked at the basket, then at Alex, a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
‘You didn’t have to do that, my boy.
I did,’ Alex replied firmly. – You taught me something very important: kindness always comes back. And now it’s my turn to repay you.
Mr Harrison smiled, and a warm happiness spread in his chest.
Then sit down, my boy,’ he said. – Let’s have some coffee and chat.
And so in that little flat kindness came round again.
