Days turned to weeks. The boy never came back. Jenny still caught herself glancing at his booth every morning, half-expecting to see him there with his book and quiet eyes.
She never learned what happened to him — if he moved, or found help, or simply vanished into life’s noise. But his absence stayed with her like an ache.
She stopped setting food at his table, but she never let anyone else sit there. That corner belonged to him — and to what he taught her.
Jenny went on working the same shifts, walking the same three blocks before dawn. But something inside her had changed. She noticed people differently now — the tired eyes, the quiet sadness behind polite smiles.
She served with a little more patience. A little more care.
And some nights, she’d look at the empty booth and think how a boy with nothing had given her everything she’d been missing — a reason to believe that small kindness can still matter in a quiet world.
Because sometimes, love doesn’t need words. Just pancakes.
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