The cup of kindness

The café bustled, voices blending into a gentle hum. Oliver sat alone, cup empty and cold, watching raindrops race along the window.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice, warm as fresh bread.

He looked up. An old woman, wrapped in knitted layers, balancing cakes and two steaming cups.

“You seem like someone who appreciates a good conversation,” she said, sliding one toward him.

He hesitated, then smiled.

They spoke of small things—books, weather, the way autumn smelled like memories.

When she left, his heart felt lighter; his tea, sweeter.

Sometimes, kindness arrives in porcelain cups, unexpected and perfect.