I put the coffee tray down in a dry corner under the awning and rushed to him.
“Sir, are you hurt?” I asked gently, kneeling beside him.
He looked up. His eyes were kind but filled with pain. “Think I twisted my knee,” he mumbled. “Don’t have the same reflexes I used to.”
I helped him sit up, then slowly guided him onto the nearby bench. He grimaced as I checked his leg.
“Let me call an ambulance,” I said.
“No, no,” he waved a trembling hand. “I’ll be alright. Just… give me a minute.”
I noticed his papers fluttering in the wind and quickly ran to gather them before they were ruined. Most were architectural sketches, notes, and what looked like a proposal. They were hand-drawn, elegant—beautiful, really.
“Thank you,” he said, surprised I had bothered.
I offered him my coffee. “It’s not fancy, just regular drip, but it’s warm.”
He smiled, touched. “You’re a rare soul.”
Suddenly, I heard laughter behind me.
“Oh look, our little intern’s playing nurse,” came a mocking voice.
I turned. It was Kyle, one of the junior analysts, flanked by a few others. They were holding their iced espressos, looking smug.
“Careful, Sarah,” Kyle continued, “You help too many homeless guys and you’ll miss your big break in coffee delivery.”
The others laughed. I felt heat rise in my cheeks. I wanted to snap back, but the old man gently rested his hand on mine.
“They don’t know what kindness is. But one day they’ll learn,” he said softly.
Eventually, I helped him hail a cab. Before getting in, he turned to me.
“You have a good heart, young lady. Don’t lose that.”
He pressed a slightly crumpled card into my hand. It had his name: Arthur Wellington. No company name, just a phone number.
“Thank you, Mr. Wellington,” I said, still feeling awkward and embarrassed as the others watched.
Back upstairs, I got chewed out by Kyle for being fifteen minutes late. No one cared why.
