Sometimes an unexpected encounter can change your perspective, urging you to pause and reflect. I’m a sensitive person, deeply affected by the pain of others, and this story has stayed with me. For days now, I haven’t been able to sleep peacefully—my thoughts keep returning to a young man I met near the train station in York.
I was heading to a friend’s place—just an average day amidst the city’s usual hustle and bustle. People were rushing around, cars honking, and a chilly wind brushed against our faces. Suddenly, my eyes were drawn to a small figure. At first glance, it seemed like a child, but looking closer, I realized it was a young man with a slight build and an unusual gait.
He was holding a puppy in his arms—a tiny, fluffy creature with a wet nose and kind eyes. Tucked under his arm was a bundle of old newspapers, constantly threatening to slip. His movements were hesitant, fingers stiff, his face slightly uneven. It was clear he had some special needs, perhaps psychological or neurological. Yet, there was something so pure and bright about him that I couldn’t just walk by.
While I was admiring the puppy, the young man dropped the newspapers. I rushed to help, packing them into a bag from my purse and gently asked, “Where are you taking these?”
He quietly answered, “To the recycling center. Earning food for the pup.”
Those words struck harder than any slap.
As we gathered the newspapers, he told me he used to live with his mother. After she passed away, his sister sold their flat, took the money, and moved abroad, leaving him alone. No documents, no support, no money. No chance.
He shared this not with anger, just as facts he seemed to have accepted long ago. Now he lives in a hostel for people with disabilities, barely managing, collecting recyclable papers and bottles to buy food for his puppy. His name was Alex. And the dog… didn’t have a name.
Some time passed. One chilly evening, I saw Alex again. He was walking along the street, holding the now-grown, sturdy puppy on a makeshift lead. The puppy recognized me and bounded over, tail wagging and whining happily. I took some food from my bag—the dog devoured it with such hunger that it broke my heart.
“He eats everything I give him,” Alex said proudly. “But he loves it most when I cook for him. Meat is a rare treat, though.”
We started chatting. He shared how attached he’d grown to the dog. The pup was his only friend, his purpose, his comfort, and his guard against loneliness. They slept under the same blanket, shared his last morsels.
With a special kind of innocence, a childlike hope in his voice, Alex said, “We came across a dog on the street recently. She looked like him. I wondered if she might be his mother. Would they recognize each other?”
I had a lump in my throat, struggling to hold back tears right there amidst the bustling city.
Then he suddenly asked, “Would you like to name him? I’ve just been calling him ‘puppy’.”
I nodded. “Let’s call him Beam. Because you’re a ray of light for each other.”
He hugged the dog, looked at me with wide eyes, and whispered, “Thank you… It’s a good name. He’s my Beam now.”
I went home with my heart in my throat. Thoughts pounding in my head: “How unfair this world is.” Some have countless homes, diamonds, cars. Others live in a dilapidated room, sharing their last crumbs with a puppy. Yet they still radiate happiness.
I want to help Alex, but I’m not wealthy. I can’t completely change his life. Yet now, whenever I see him, I bring something along: food, a warm coat, or just words of encouragement. And you know what’s astounding? He always smiles. He’s grateful for every little thing as if it’s a gift from above.
People like him remind us that happiness isn’t found in money, status, or a perfect home. It’s in a warm hand. A loyal look. Kind words. In simply not being alone.
Sometimes I want to shout: “People! Wake up! Look at how much pain is around us!” But I know—no one would hear.
So, I’ll just do what I can. Because if even one Beam and one Alex go unhungry and not alone—then my life has meaning.