Mara hadn’t planned to stay in the small town, but a twist of fate – or more likely a twist in her car’s transmission – left her stranded on a quiet street just past dusk. It was raining, a soft drizzle, the kind that seemed to seep into the bones rather than wash away. She hurried toward the single diner, its neon “OPEN” sign flickering against the wet pavement.

Inside, the place was nearly empty, save for an old man hunched over a cup of coffee, the steam curling up like he was trying to keep warm from it. He looked up when she came in, and his eyes were sharp in a way that unsettled her.

“You lost?” he asked, his voice gravelly, the words not unfriendly but more like an observation.

“Car broke down,” she said with a shrug, hoping it might end the conversation. “Just passing through.”

He nodded and gestured toward the counter. “Well, have a seat. Food’s cheap, coffee’s better than it looks.”

Mara didn’t argue. She slid onto the stool and ordered the first thing on the menu, a bowl of soup that appeared in front of her within minutes, steaming and rich.

After a while, the old man spoke again, this time without looking up from his cup. “Funny, isn’t it? People like us passing through towns like these.”

She raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. “People like us?”

He met her gaze this time, and there was a flicker of understanding there, an old wound hidden behind his quiet stare. “People on their way to nowhere in particular. People who keep moving, thinking maybe the next place will be different.”

Mara looked down at her soup, the weight of his words pressing on her. It was true – she was running. Running from a life that felt as hollow as the empty roads she had driven. She hadn’t put it into words before, but the man’s observation left her feeling exposed.

“Not much to find out there,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man gave a slight chuckle, sad and soft. “Maybe. But sometimes, the only thing we really have is each other. Just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.”

Mara nodded, the warmth of the soup and his words filling her in a way she hadn’t expected. She didn’t ask him where he’d come from or where he was going, and he didn’t pry into her life either. It was enough, she realized, just to share that moment, two people pausing on their own winding paths.

When she left the diner an hour later, she felt a little less lost, her steps a little lighter.