Rushing to work, as usual, I was late. The wind blew outside, and the pavement was still damp from last nights rain. As I crossed the street, I spotted a man at the edge of the sidewalk. He appeared to be in his forties, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. His pants were torn at the knee, his leg covered in blood.
People walked past as if they didnt see himsome on their phones, others eating, a few glancing and looking away. But I couldnt ignore him. Something in his gaze stopped me.
“Are you okay? Did you fall?” I crouched beside him.
He nodded slightly, tried to straighten up, but winced in pain.
“Let me call an ambulance,” I said, already pulling out my phone.
“No, please dont,” he rasped, exhausted. “Ill manage.”
“Are you sure? Youre bleeding, you cant walk” I frowned. “Why wont you go to the hospital?”
He hesitated, as if weighing his words.
“Could I just call a friend? My phones dead. One call, thats all.”
Uneasy, I handed him my phone. He dialed quickly, like he knew the number by heart, then stepped aside.
“Hey. Its me. Can you? Yeah. Hurry.”
After a whispered exchange, he returned the phone with a faint smile.
“Thanks. Youre very kind.”
I nodded and hurried off, an odd unease settling in me. Maybe because it all felt too strange.
Then, days lateran unexpected twist.
A call from an unknown number.
“We met on the streetyou lent me your phone.”
I froze.
“Right Are you alright?”
“Because of youyes. You have no idea how much you helped me. Without your phone, things couldve ended badly. Thank you. And if you ever need anything, call me. I owe you.”
“Did you go to the hospital?”
“No. But lets just say I handled it. You were one of the few who didnt walk away. Not many like you.”
He didnt explain further, and I didnt press. Yet, warmth spread in my chest. Sometimes, lending a phone changes a life.
