Her shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension fading just enough to breathe again. “It’s fine,” she murmured. “Life just… turns in strange ways sometimes.” When she came back later with our food, she carried herself a little differently—still reserved, but no longer harsh. Before we left, I thanked her again, not just for the service but for the honesty. As we stepped outside into the warm afternoon light, my husband took my hand and said, “You handled that well.” I shook my head thoughtfully. “No… she handled it well. She reminded me that everyone has a story, even the people we think we’ve forgotten.” And as we walked home, I promised myself to see people more clearly—to look beyond the surface, the noise, the rush of life—and truly notice them.
