I BOUGHT SHAWARMA AND COFFEE FOR A HOMELESS MAN — IN RETURN, HE GAVE ME A NOTE AND TOLD ME TO READ IT AT HOME.

I BOUGHT SHAWARMA AND COFFEE FOR A HOMELESS MAN — IN RETURN, HE GAVE ME A NOTE AND TOLD ME TO READ IT AT HOME.
That evening, the thermometer showed 26.6°F. The wind cut through my coat, and snowflakes stung my cheeks. All I wanted was to get home, take a hot bath, and sip cocoa. But as I approached the shawarma stand near the corner, my steps faltered.
There he was — a man wrapped in tattered fabric, trembling as a scrappy dog pressed against him for warmth. His rough, pleading voice broke through the cold.
“Just a cup of hot water, please,” he asked.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” the vendor snapped, not even looking at him.
The dog whimpered, and something inside me broke. My grandmother’s words echoed: “Kindness costs nothing but can change everything.” I stepped forward.
“Two coffees and two shawarmas, please.”
The vendor frowned but filled the order. Blushing, I handed the bag and cups to the man. “Here,” I muttered.
As I walked away, his raspy voice stopped me. “Wait.” He held out a crumpled paper. “Read it at home,” he said with a strange smile.
I stuffed the note into my pocket, dismissing it as I focused on my commute, work emails, and the hundred other trivialities of modern life.
It wasn’t until the next evening, as I cleaned out my coat pocket, that I found it. The paper was creased and worn, but the message was clear.
The words left me speechless. I whispered to myself, “Is this real?”…
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