4 “The Fragility Of Innocence”

Four 

As the stranger continued to observe her, he was reminded of the fragility of innocence, how easily it could be lost. He felt a protective instinct, a desire to shield her from the harsh realities of life, to preserve the purity that shone so brightly in her eyes. At that moment, the stranger realized that he had stumbled upon something truly special. He had encountered a soul untouched by the cynicism and despair that often characterized the world. Maybe he was right, or maybe he was wrong. But one thing was for sure, he saw innocence in her eyes. Her innocence was a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still beauty and goodness to be found.

The stranger cleared his throat, his voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “Would you like some hot tea?” he asked, his tone polite and considerate. “I do not think coffee would be a good choice at this late hour. Perhaps a decaf would be better?” he suggested, his words a reflection of his thoughtfulness and concern. His offer was a small act of kindness, a gesture that showed his care and consideration for Florence’s well-being. He understood that coffee might be too stimulating at such a late hour, and he wanted to ensure her comfort and relaxation. His words were a testament to his thoughtfulness and his desire to provide for her needs.

Florence was drunk in her head and all she could do was nod her head. He walked away and headed to the cashier as he thought to himself, “What the fuck does that nod for? Was she nodding for the tea or the coffee?” He chuckled lightly under his breath and just shook his head. 

The stranger returned to the table, his hands holding the tray with steaming cups and a plate of sandwich that he wished she would love to eat. He found Florence leaning forward slightly, her eyes closed, her head resting on her arms. She appeared to be on the verge of sleep, her exhaustion and drunkenness evident.

He had thoughtfully selected a delicious hot tea to warm her up and a hearty sandwich to satisfy her hunger, in case she was starving since he, himself, would eat a lot when drunk. His concern for her well-being was evident in his choices, a reflection of his caring nature. As he placed the tray with food and drinks on the table, he hoped that she would find comfort and nourishment in his offerings.

The aroma of the steaming tea filled the air, a comforting scent that seemed to soothe Florence’s senses. The sight of the food, a hearty sandwich overflowing with savory ingredients, was equally enticing. The stranger watched as she slowly lifted her head, her eyes still heavy with sleep. God, was she cute, he thought to himself. He gently nudged her, his voice soft and reassuring. “Eat something,” he said, his words a gentle encouragement.

Florence’s stomach rumbled in agreement, a reminder of her hunger. She reached for the sandwich, taking a small bite. The flavors were a delightful surprise, a comforting contrast to the emptiness she had been feeling. As she chewed, she savored the taste, the warmth spreading through her body.

The stranger watched her with a sense of satisfaction. He had provided her with the nourishment she needed, and he was pleased to see her enjoying the food. He knew that she was going through a difficult time, and he hoped that these small acts of kindness would bring her some comfort.

As Florence continued to eat, he took a sip of his own tea. The warmth of the liquid was a welcome respite from the cold, a soothing balm for his weary soul. He looked around the coffee shop, taking in the quiet ambiance with less customers than most. The soft glow of the lights, the gentle murmur of conversation, created a peaceful atmosphere.

He turned his attention back to Florence, watching her as she finished her sandwich. She seemed to be feeling better, her eyes no longer heavy with sleep. She smiled, that was why she was drinking and she was drunk, but he hoped that his kindness had made a small difference in her life.

Florence pointed towards the restroom, indicating her intention to use the facilities. The stranger nodded, understanding her gesture. As she accidentally left her phone on the table, he watched her carefully, hoping that she would not take it with her. To his relief, she did not.

He waited until she was out of sight, then quickly reached for his wallet. He pulled out a small, inconspicuous item and slipped it into her phone case. He worked quickly, his movements precise and efficient. In just ten seconds, he had completed his task, the small item now hidden within the phone case as he smiled.

As Florence reemerged from the restroom, the stranger smiled, his expression calm and composed. He acted as if nothing had happened, his demeanor unchanged. The secret he had hidden within her phone case was a small act of defiance, a silent protest against the forces that sought to control her. It was a gesture of solidarity, a way of showing his support for her struggle.

The stranger really wished that Florence had spoken to him, that she had shared her thoughts and feelings. Her silence had reinforced his belief that she was deaf-mute, but he accepted it without judgment. “It was truly a pleasure helping you,” he said, rising from his seat. He glanced at his wristwatch, a reminder of the passing time. “Will you be alright going home alone? I can call you a cab,” he offered, his voice filled with concern as he glanced outside and noticed that the rain had stopped a little bit now compared to earlier.

Florence, her sobriety slowly returning, raised her hand, signaling for the stranger to wait. She reached for her phone from the table, her fingers fumbling as she navigated the apps. She found the TypeTalk app, a tool she had been using to communicate with people who did not know hand sign language. She typed in her message and pressed the loudspeaker button. A synthesized voice, clear and distinct, announced, “Thank you. You don't need to worry about calling me a cab. I can find my way home.”

The stranger smiled at her, his expression a mix of relief and satisfaction. “You are welcome,” he answered, his voice warm and sincere. “But I have to go.” He had a prior engagement, a meeting that he had planned before encountering Florence. Despite his desire to stay and offer further assistance, he knew that he had to leave since his phone had been vibrating in his pocket.

“How can I repay you?” The synthesized voice chimed from Florence’s phone.

He smiled and shook his head in response, “You do not have to. I hope to see you around and call me.” He left and headed out of the coffee shop.

Leaving Florence confused as she mumbled to herself, “What did he mean to call him?”

Yes, she could speak but she chose not to.