One late winter night during the Christmas season, when the snow-covered days felt heavier than usual, I slipped out in search of a little warmth and quiet. Naturally, that led me to my go-to place for a reset—Starbucks.
The moment I stepped inside, I was met with warm lights, the smell of roasted espresso in the air, and a steady hum of conversation layered with holiday music. The place was surprisingly packed for this time of hour, the line stretching farther than expected; but the cozy chaos of a coffee shop has always soothed me, and I didn’t mind the wait. I welcomed this opportunity to recharge myself.
As I waited, a book display beside me caught my eye. The book was called “The Kite Runner,” and my mind wandered for a moment about what story was behind this title.
An older couple stepped up beside me, waiting for their order to be called. The woman noticed the book too and tapped the cover with a spark of recognition, telling the man how incredible the story was. She lifted it from the display, flipping through the pages as she talked. My curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself wanting to join in.
I should also note that, at this time in my life, I had been working on pushing past my comfort zone and becoming braver about talking with strangers; trying to get more comfortable with “networking.” My design instructors had been nudging me toward it, and so I took this as a small chance to practice.
I politely asked the woman what the book was about, since the title and cover had caught my attention. Delighted by my question, she smiled and explained that it was about the friendship of two young boys in Afghanistan whose lives were separated by war. I asked more questions, and the conversation continued. The man who was with the woman didn’t say anything. He just listened.
I mentioned that I was currently reading “Eat Pray Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. The woman’s eyes lit up. She had just finished that reading in her book club and loved it. Then we started talking about her book club and the insights she gains from discussing readings with groups of her friends.
After some time, a name was called, and the woman looked up, realizing it was her coffee. Before leaving, she turned to me and said how nice it was to meet me. I said the same and smiled. Then she slipped right back into conversation with the quiet man as she picked up her drink and continued talking while they headed toward the exit.
But just before they reached the door, the woman stopped abruptly, as if something important had slipped her mind. She turned around and began weaving her way back through the busy crowd, her eyes searching until they found mine.
She then approached me, leaned in gently, and said, “I forgot to wish you a Merry Christmas.” She smiled softly, then walked away with one hand lifted in the air, pointing upward as she called back, “You’ll enjoy the book!” (And I did.) She rejoined the man as though the moment had never paused, slipping effortlessly back into their conversation as they exited the building.
My order came up immediately after, and I hurried to grab it. On my way to the car, still curious, I glanced around the parking lot for the couple, but they were nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was no one outside at all—no cars passing or running in park, no footsteps, nothing. Unlike the warm bustle inside the coffee shop, the small parking lot was completely still and quiet. It felt as though only the full winter moon was out there with me, watching as I stood looking around.
It felt almost as if the couple had vanished like angel spirits who appeared only for a moment. I took a deep breath and realized I felt lighter. The heaviness I’d been carrying had eased, and a bit of hopeful energy had returned. It was as though the woman had been talking with me about ordinary things on the surface, but underneath her words was a deeper message: everything is going to be okay. I just needed to listen closely enough to hear it.
There is a poem called “God, Are You Real” by an unknown author. I fell in love with it the first time I read it, and it reminds me of this experience. The last few verses read:
“So the child cried out in despair, “Touch me God, and let me know you are here.”
Whereupon God reached down and touched the child…but the child brushed the butterfly away and walked away unknowingly.”
How many times have you walked away unknowingly?
I think love comes in many forms, and when you truly notice, you start to see the good in the world, and in your own life.
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Originally written by Maria in 2003
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