“I hope this is enough. How much is the soup again?”
The elderly man stood quietly at the small counter of the busy lunch café, carefully pouring a handful of coins onto the table. His hands trembled slightly as the metal pieces clinked against the surface.
“The soup and rice is twelve dollars,” the cashier replied without much interest.
The man counted again, slowly nudging the coins together.
“Okay… okay…”
He separated a few pennies, then slid them back into the small pile.
Behind the counter, two workers leaned closer and whispered.
“He’s paying with coins again.”
“Should I tell him we’re not a charity?”
“Just tell him to order less. We’re busy.”
The old man looked up nervously, clearly hearing them.
“You want the soup?” the cashier asked impatiently.
“I can do half,” the man said softly. “Maybe just the soup.”
Before the cashier could answer, a young waitress stepped forward.
“No,” she said gently. “Get the soup, sir.”
She reached for a tray and placed a steaming bowl onto it.
“He’s short,” she added quietly. “I’ll cover it.”
The cashier frowned.
“Why? He’ll keep coming back.”
The waitress shrugged.
“He’s hungry.”
“Then he can be hungry somewhere else,” the cashier muttered.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned with the tray.
“I didn’t order rice,” the old man said when he noticed the bowl beside the soup.
“It’s on the house,” she replied with a warm smile.
“That’s… that’s too kind,” he whispered.
“Eat while it’s hot.”
He lifted the spoon slowly, almost cautiously, as if worried someone might take the food away.
But just as he raised the spoon to his mouth, the manager stepped out from the kitchen.
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