A hungry youngster, drenched in rain, begged a wealthy stranger for help but was turned away. Thirteen years later, they meet again, but this time the boy can alter lives.
The rain was so bad I couldn’t see past the next streetlight. A rain that made your clothes stick to you and your shoes spongey.
I waited outside a restaurant with gold doors and beautiful window music. My stomach churned as I watched others devour heated meals through the glass.
I was 10. Cold. Wet. Tired. Mostly hungry.
My cardboard read “Hungry” shakily. Please assist.”
Some passed without looking. A man in a brown hat stepped around me like sidewalk trash. A heeled woman tightened her coat and crossed. Not their fault. I was a sloppy youngster near a steak-and-bread smell.
I spotted the automobile.
Long and black, mirror-polished. The silent vehicle halted in front of the restaurant. Man exited. He was tall, had silver hair, and a big, warm coat. Other people looked rushed, but not him. He looked like night lord.
People in town pronounced his name seriously. He owned a business.
Big deals, plenty of cash. I heard his name at the shelter. The workers termed him “the big man with the cold heart.”
Stepped forward.
“Sir? Please… Two days without food. Could you aid me? Even leftovers work.”
He regarded me as a broken window.
Don’t beg, he urged. “Find your parents. Get lost.”
Just like that, he passed me.
The doors opened. Warm air escaped. Laughter, clinking glasses. I saw him enter dry and clean like nothing happened. Doors closed again. Solo in the rain.
No tears. I was silent.
But I remembered.
Life didn’t improve after that night. Not now.
Mom died when I was seven. My dad left a year later. I was never informed why. One morning he vanished. I was fostered. Some homes worked. Some weren’t.
Back then, I hardly spoke. But I listened. I watched. School became my refuge. Books were calm and secure. If you stayed in class and submitted on time, teachers didn’t yell.
In fifth grade, I met Ms. Tully. My homeroom teacher. Always had chalk on her hands and large glasses. She caught me doing additional math worksheets during lunch. I kept busy to avoid hunger.
She sat next me and remarked, “You’re sharp, Jake. Ever consider college?
A laugh. Not for humor. Because it seemed impossible.
She didn’t drop it. Counselors saw her. Supported my private middle school scholarship application. I entered.
It wasn’t magic. Life remained hard. I kept moving. Counted every dime. That was the start.
I tutored math and coded after school in high school. Got into a good college. Full ride. I made apps at night in my dorm while studying computer science. Some took off.
It started slowly. A few downloads. Then thousands. Next, millions.
I founded a company before graduating. I was the youngest state CEO at 23.
People asked my method. Always stated hard effort. I was always the hungry child outside the restaurant.
That night lingered. The chill. The silence. He glanced past me like I didn’t matter.
Had no hatred toward him. That feeling of being invisible never left me.
I always wondered what I would do if I saw him again.
The lobby was steel and glass. Everything reeked of lemon polish and coffee. I’d attended 100 meetings like this, but this morning felt different. The interview was for a senior finance executive, according to my assistant. I waited by the window with a bottle of water because I was early.
Then I saw him.
Sitting near the front desk, his shoulders were stiff and knees hopping. One hand clutched a resumé, the other a folded coat. Now his hair was thinner. Deep wrinkles adorned his face. He was no longer confident and keen. This version appeared worn. Nervous. He felt like he hadn’t been in this room in ages.
A second to confirm. It was him.
The same man who passed me in the rain thirteen years earlier. Same pointy nose. His booming voice was audible as he thanked the receptionist with a forced smile.
Just staring at him. He ignored me.
That was fine. I wasn’t going to say anything. I wondered who he was now.
Our names were called by the receptionist shortly after. I stood and rearranged my jacket.
I said, “Right this way,” quietly, holding the door open.
He nodded slightly. “Thanks.”
He looked around as we entered the conference room. It was obvious in his face—he assumed I was another applicant. Young professional wanting the same shot.
Sitting across from each other.
I opened his résumé and paused.
“You’re applying for the financial advisory position,” I said calmly.
“Yes,” he answered swiftly. I have 15+ years of experience. Used to own a business. I took a break, but I’m ready to contribute again.”
I nodded. “Your company folded.”
He looked down. “Yes. Things happened. There were errors. Untrustworthy partnerships. Lost a lot. My goal is to get back on my feet.”
I observed him.
Do you recall a wet night? Outside a restaurant?”
He blinks. “I—what?”
“Thirteen years ago,” I maintained. “A drenched boy stood outside that restaurant. Hungry. Carrying a cardboard sign.”
He narrowed his gaze at me. “I don’t…
I said, “He asked you for food.” You told him not to beg. Find your parents. Get lost.”
His face paled.
“I…” Cracked voice. “I forgot. However, that seems like something I might have said. I apologize.”
“That boy,” I whispered, “was me.”
Silence filled the room. Air conditioner hummed was all that was heard.
He opened his mouth but said nothing.
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I’m not here to contradict you. That moment has stayed with me—not out of hate. Just a reminder.”
Slowly bending forward, he spoke low. I was transformed. I thought wealth made me superior. I treated them like nothing. I’ve lost everything since. Now I see. I do.”
He convinced me. I thought he meant it.
I closed his resume. “We won’t offer you the job,” I said.
He nodded slowly. I get it.”
I said, going into my folder, “but a friend of mine runs a firm. They hire. And they believe in second chances.”
I moved a card on the table.
He handled it like gold. His hands shook.
“You’d help me?”
“I would,” I responded. “Because someone once believed in me without having to.”
He stood, card in hand, eyes hazy.
“Thank you,” he muttered. “I mean it.”
I nodded once. “Good luck.”
He left the room straighter.
By the window, I watched individuals walk down the sidewalk. Some had umbrellas. A few rushed through the rain. I remembered that night, how chilly and invisible I felt. Never desired revenge. All I wanted was to matter.
I observed a man fall today where he rose. And I didn’t shove him down. My hand was extended. Because kindness isn’t weak. Strength. That boy in the rain may finally let go of the hurt. Forgive, not forget. Continue walking.
