3 “The Stranger” 

Three

The stranger could detect the strong scent of alcohol on Florence’s breath despite the scent of rain hitting the dry ground, but he refrained from making any judgmental comments. He observed her distress, her tears flowing freely, and he understood very well that she was going through a difficult time and everyone did go through something somewhere. Even earlier, from the safety of his car, he had witnessed her collapse onto the sidewalk, her cries echoing through the rain. He knew that she was not the only person in her suffering, that everyone, in their own way, was battling their own demons. He was battling his own demons as well. 

Humans, he believed and he knew well, were inherently flawed and imperfect. They were driven by a constant desire for more, fueled by envy and dissatisfaction. People were designed to be like that. He recognized his own shortcomings, his own imperfections, after all he was a human himself, but he strived to maintain a sense of decency and respect in his interactions with others whoever they were. He believed that even in the darkest of times, it was important to treat others with kindness and compassion. 

The stranger offered a helping hand, his smile a faint flicker of warmth amidst the gloom. “Come on, let me help you stand,” he told her, his voice was gentle and reassuring. Florence hesitated, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to accept his offer. He did not pressure her, but he was glad that she could actually hear him. Her hand, small and delicate, seemed almost insignificant compared to his larger, stronger one. As she took his hand, she felt a surge of gratitude and a glimmer of hope while he helped her stand on her two feet. 

The stranger continued to hold the umbrella with one hand, his gaze scanning the surroundings. “Can you walk?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. Florence nodded slowly, her movements deliberate and cautious. The rain was falling heavily, and she was completely drenched. Her clothes clung to her body, heavy and uncomfortable.

The stranger looked around for a nearby shelter, a place where they could escape the relentless downpour. His eyes landed on a cozy coffee shop, its warm glow a beacon of hope in the midst of the storm. “There,” he chimed loudly over the loud and heavy pouring rain, pointing with his free hand. “A coffee shop. Let me buy you something hot to drink, to warm you up. You look like you need it,” he added, his voice filled with sincerity.

The offer was a gesture of kindness, a small act of compassion in a world that often seemed cold and uncaring. Florence was touched by his thoughtfulness, his willingness to go out of his way to help her but she knew for a fact that she was not going to remember him tomorrow because she was under the influence. As they walked towards the coffee shop, he helped her and held her, but not sexually. He was just helping her so she would not stumble forward or trip, and she felt a sense of gratitude and relief towards him. She was no longer alone…for now. 

At least there was someone temporary.

As they entered the coffee shop, the stranger gently guided Florence towards an empty table, away from the chilly draft of the air conditioner. He removed his black jacket, a thick and insulating garment, and offered it to her. “Here, put this on,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “You are soaked. You must be freezing.”

Florence hesitated, her hands trembling slightly from the cold and from everything that was inside her head. She stared down at her damp clothes, her mind racing with thoughts of her own vulnerability. The stranger, sensing her hesitation, gently placed the jacket around her shoulders. The warmth of the fabric was a comforting contrast to the cold she had been feeling. The oversized jacket enveloped her, providing a sense of security and protection.

The thin shirt he was wearing did not really bother him, but Florence’s reaction to the stranger’s gesture was one of surprise and confusion, and it surprised him a little bit. He realized that she seemed lost in her own thoughts, perhaps unable to hear him clearly. Although she wore a hearing aid, he was understanding and patient. As she finally looked up at him, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the coffee shop, he was completely and utterly struck by her beauty. 

Despite her damp hair, he noticed the stunning shade of honey blonde that cascaded down her shoulders. Her large, round eyes, a captivating shade of gray, were filled with an innocent charm. The stranger could not help but stare at her, his gaze fixed on her flushed cheeks and her eyes, which held a hint of drunkenness.

But her eyes were so innocent.

Florence’s gray eyes, large and round, held a depth of innocence that seemed almost ethereal. They were windows into a soul touched by the harsh realities of the world. In her gaze, one could glimpse a purity that was both captivating and heartbreaking. He could see from the way the innocence her eyes looked, she was going through something. 

It was as if the world’s sorrows had reached her, as if she needed to be shielded from the cynicism and despair that often clouded the hearts of others which had already clouded hers. Her eyes reflected a childlike wonder, a curiosity about the world that was both endearing and inspiring despite looking drunk and lost.

The stranger found himself drawn to the innocence that radiated from her eyes. It was a very stark contrast to the turmoil he had witnessed in her earlier. In her gaze, he saw that she needed a glimmer of hope to spark, a reminder that despite the darkness that often surrounded us, there was still light to be found.