I didn’t expect a stranger’s folded note to stitch two distant days of my life together. That first time in the café, I’d simply offered warmth to a soaked, invisible man and walked away, convinced it was nothing. Years later, standing by that shawarma stand, I learned it had become his turning point, a moment he clung to when everything else fell apart.
Listening to Victor share how close he’d come to giving up forced me to confront how casually we underestimate our impact. Helping him find shelter, documents, and work felt less like charity and more like honoring a thread already connecting us. When he appeared at my door with a birthday cake and steady eyes, it wasn’t a happy ending—it was proof. The smallest gesture can outlive the moment, circle back years later, and quietly say: you mattered more than you knew.
