Cruel words may not leave bruises, but their impact runs deep. They linger in the mind, long after the moment has passed. I witnessed this firsthand one evening in an upscale restaurant, when three affluent women mocked a young waitress for “smelling poor.” The air went still, heavy with discomfort. No one dared to speak—until my boyfriend stood up and did something unforgettable.
My name is Anna, but the story doesn’t really start there at that dinner table. It started months earlier, tucked away in a quiet corner of my university library—on a day when nothing seemed to go right.
That morning, my coffee spilled inside my tote, soaking my notes and textbooks. The bus broke down halfway to campus, leaving me to walk the rest of the way in the rain. And just when I thought the day couldn’t get worse, I found myself locked in a silent standoff with the library printer.
It whirred, clunked, printed half a page… then died completely. A queue of students behind me groaned in irritation. I could feel their impatience like heat on the back of my neck. Someone sighed loudly. Another muttered something under their breath. I just stared at the machine, defeated.
Then, out of nowhere, a guy with tousled brown hair stepped beside me. He didn’t smirk or roll his eyes like the rest. He crouched down beside the printer, offered a gentle smile, and said, “Mind if I try?”
Within moments, he pressed a few buttons—and just like that, the printer came back to life, churning out my documents like nothing had happened.
That was the first time I met Jack.
