The Touch of Kindness

It was one of those evenings when exhaustion from the day seemed overwhelming, and I felt the need for a change of scenery. I decided to go out for dinner, hoping that a quiet meal would bring some calm to my restless mind. Instead of heading to a big, bustling restaurant, I chose a small, familiar eatery. It wasn’t crowded, which suited my mood perfectly. I walked in, selected a quiet corner, and settled down.

As I picked up the menu, I realized that I wasn’t in the mood for anything extravagant. The usual options of fish or meat didn’t appeal to me. My body and mind craved simplicity, a feeling perhaps brought on by the mental clutter of the day. I called the waiter and said, “Just rice, lentils, and mashed potatoes, please.”

While waiting for my meal, I let my eyes wander around the room. The ambiance was cozy, the lights dim but warm. My gaze landed on a table nearby where three people were seated. They seemed cheerful and animated, talking and laughing as they ate. Their plates were filled with rice and beef curry, and they appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

One of the men caught my attention. He bore an uncanny resemblance to my old friend Shihab. His expressions, his laughter, even the way he gestured reminded me of him. I stared at him for a moment longer than I intended, unsure if it was really Shihab. Part of me wanted to go over and confirm, but the fear of an awkward misunderstanding held me back. I glanced away, only to find my eyes drawn to him again moments later.

Soon, the waiter arrived with my order. He placed a simple plate of rice, lentils, and mashed potatoes in front of me. I washed my hands and returned to the table to eat. As I began mixing the food, I found myself stealing glances at the Shihab-like man again. A thought crossed my mind to strike up a conversation, but I brushed it aside, deciding to stay in my quiet corner.

Just as I was settling into my meal, something unexpected happened. The waiter approached my table again, this time with a bowl of beef curry in his hands. He placed it in front of me with a smile. Startled, I said, “I didn’t order this!”

The waiter replied, “It’s from the table over there. They wanted you to have it, and they’ve already said they’ll cover the cost. Please enjoy.”

I was taken aback. My initial reaction was disbelief. Such gestures of kindness were rare in my experience, and I couldn’t understand why these strangers would do this for me. But the waiter’s words and their warm smiles reassured me. Slowly, my surprise gave way to gratitude.

I looked at the bowl of curry and thought about the generosity of these three strangers. There was no reason for them to offer me anything, yet they did. It was a simple act, but it felt profound. In that moment, I realized how small gestures can carry immense meaning.

Despite the unexpected nature of the situation, I didn’t feel awkward or insulted. Instead, a sense of warmth and joy filled my heart. These strangers weren’t just sharing food; they were sharing kindness, as if they wanted to ensure that I, too, had a memorable evening.

I pulled the bowl closer and began eating. The aroma was rich and inviting, and each bite seemed to carry a message: the world still has goodness. The simple act of eating that curry became a profound reminder of the compassion that exists in unexpected places.

After finishing my meal, I called the waiter over and asked for the bill. He looked puzzled and said, “But the gentlemen at that table already paid for your meal.”

I smiled and, after a brief moment of thought, said, “In that case, bring me the bill for all four of us. I’ll take care of it.”

The waiter seemed surprised but didn’t argue. He brought the total bill, and I paid it quietly. I didn’t say anything to the three men at the other table. I didn’t thank them openly, nor did I let them know I had covered their bill.

As I stepped out into the night, the cool breeze and the starry sky greeted me. An unusual yet fulfilling sense of peace washed over me. I realized that the kindness I had just experienced was contagious. The three strangers’ gesture had inspired me to pass on that kindness in my own way.

Love and kindness, I thought, are never meant to be confined. They ripple outward, touching lives and creating connections that go beyond words. By paying for their meal, I felt like I had added my own contribution to this circle of goodwill.

That night, as I walked under the vast expanse of stars, I reflected on how small acts can make a big difference. The three strangers taught me that kindness doesn’t need a grand gesture. It doesn’t even need a name or face. All it requires is a willing heart.

And perhaps, the greatest gift we can give is to keep that cycle of kindness going—to pass it on, quietly and selflessly, just as it was given to us.