Like every other day, I woke up to the familiar buzz of my alarm clock.

An alarm clock | Source: Pexels

I lay there for a moment, letting the silence of the house settle around me. There were no sounds of breakfast being made, no scent of coffee drifting up from downstairs, and no soft humming of a woman getting ready for the day.

I turned to the nightstand, where a picture of Evelyn sat. She had been my wife and my closest companion. She was the one who made this house feel like home.

Evelyn had been gone for six years now, but it often felt like it had happened just yesterday.

A man touching a coffin | Source: Pexels

I sighed heavily and sat up, rubbing my eyes. I reached for my phone and checked the screen—no messages. No missed calls.

I don’t know why I still checked it. It had been years since my children, Lucas or Anna, had called me without me initiating the contact.

They had tried at first. After Evelyn passed, they made efforts to stay in touch. Lucas would call every Sunday, and Anna would visit during the holidays.

But then, life took its course.

Lucas got busier with his career, and Anna moved to the other side of the country with her new family. The phone calls dwindled to messages, the visits to excuses, and soon, the silence became as regular as the ticking of the clock on the wall.

An older man standing in his house | Source: Midjourney

I understood. I really did. They had their own lives to live. But understanding it didn’t make it any easier.

With a groan, I got out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. Breakfast was the usual—just toast and black coffee.

Eating alone didn’t feel like much of a meal. I knew Evelyn would have scolded me for skipping the eggs, but what was the point of cooking when it was only me?

When I finished, I rinsed my mug, grabbed my keys, and stepped outside.

A man leaving his house | Source: Midjourney

My old Chevy sputtered when I started it. It seemed like we were both just trying to get through another day.

The drive to the grocery store was short. I parked in the usual spot, threw on my work vest, and walked inside.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I made my way to the register.

A register in a supermarket | Source: Midjourney

The thing about working as a cashier was that you got used to being invisible.

Most customers didn’t even bother greeting you. They just stood there, eyes glued to their phones while you rang up their groceries.

At first, it bothered me. But now, it was just part of the routine, and I was the man who blended into the background.

The shift dragged on as it always did. Hours blurred together as I scanned items, bagged groceries, and forced smiles at customers who barely even looked up.

A close-up shot of a man working in a supermarket | Source: Midjourney

Then, during the afternoon rush, a man in his thirties stepped up with his groceries.

He was dressed simply, in a plain gray T-shirt and jeans. As I reached for the first item, he spoke.

"You look like you could use a break."

I paused and looked up. Most people didn't make small talk with cashiers.

"Don't we all?" I muttered, scanning a loaf of bread and placing it in the bag.

He chuckled. "Fair enough. Long shift?"

"Same as usual."

I glanced at him, expecting him to be glued to his phone, but he wasn’t. He was actually looking at me, as if he cared about my answer.

I couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at me like that.

The register beeped, and I finished scanning his items. "That'll be $23.76."

He handed me a twenty and a five, then leaned on the counter.

"I’m Nathan, by the way."

"Arthur," I smiled.

An older man working in a supermarket | Source: Midjourney

"Nice to meet you, Arthur." He grabbed his bags, but didn’t walk away immediately. "Take it easy, alright?"

"Yeah," I said, though my tone was more uncertain than I intended.

And then he was gone. He disappeared into the crowd, like any other customer.

Except he wasn’t like any other customer.

Most people came and went, faceless and fleeting, but something about Nathan lingered. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me, as if I was more than just a cashier. Like I was a person.

I shook my head and pushed the thought away. People like him didn’t stick around.

At least, that’s what I thought.

A back-view shot of a man in a supermarket | Source: Midjourney

Nathan started coming by more frequently after that.

At first, I figured it was just coincidence. Some people liked going to the same store. But after the third or fourth time, I began to realize he wasn’t just there for groceries.

He always made a point of coming to my register, even when other lines were shorter. Sometimes, he only had a bottle of water or a pack of gum.

Other times, he’d linger, making small talk while I scanned his items.

A young man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

One evening, after my shift, I saw him sitting on a bench near the parking lot.

"Stalking me, huh?" I joked.

Nathan looked up and grinned. "Nah. Just thinking."

"What about?" I asked, sitting next to him.

He exhaled slowly. "My dad."

I didn’t say anything.

"He passed away a few months ago," Nathan continued. "I didn’t see him much before that. Life just… got in the way."

A man sitting in a parking lot | Source: Midjourney

His voice was calm, but I could hear the regret underneath. The kind of grief that presses down on you, heavy and quiet.

I knew that feeling all too well.

"Yeah?" I said finally.

Nathan looked at me. "Yeah. I always told myself I’d call more. Visit more. But work, stress, excuses… you know how it goes."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know exactly how it is."

We sat in silence for a few moments before I spoke.

Two men sitting on a bench in a parking lot | Source: Midjourney

"My kids used to call all the time," I admitted. "Lucas would check in every Sunday. And Anna would come home for the holidays. But now… I’m lucky if I get a text."

"Does it bother you?" he asked.

I chuckled dryly. "I tell myself it doesn’t. But some days... yeah."

Nathan nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.

A young man talking to an older man | Source: Midjourney

And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was talking to a stranger. It felt like I was talking to someone who truly understood.

"Want to grab coffee or something?" he asked.

"Sure, kid," I said.

That wasn’t the last time Nathan and I went for coffee. We started meeting regularly after my shifts.

Two cups of coffee | Source: Pexels

At first, I thought it was just casual conversation. But over time, I started to notice things about him.

Some nights, he looked worn out, like he hadn’t slept. Other times, his clothes seemed more worn than usual. He always carried a backpack, but I never saw him pull anything out.

One evening, I decided to ask him about it.

"So, what do you do for work, Nathan?"

He hesitated. Not the kind of hesitation where you’re thinking of what to say, but the kind where you don’t want to say anything at all.

"Not much these days," he said, stirring his coffee.

A man stirring his coffee | Source: Pexels

I raised an eyebrow. "Between jobs, or…?"

He sighed and leaned back. "I lost my job. Then my apartment. Been crashing where I can."

I set my coffee down. "What happened?"

Nathan ran a hand through his hair. "My dad got sick last year. It was bad enough he needed full-time care. He was a proud man, wouldn’t admit he needed help. But I couldn’t leave him like that, so I took time off work. It started as a few days, then a few weeks. I thought I could balance it."

An older man in his bed | Source: Pexels

He gave a grim chuckle. "Turns out, you can’t. My boss tried to be patient, but sales are all about numbers, and mine started slipping. Eventually, they had to let me go."

I nodded, listening.

"I wasn’t too worried at first. I had savings. But then, my dad got worse. By the time he passed…" Nathan’s voice trailed off. "I just shut down. Told myself I’d start looking ‘tomorrow.’ Then tomorrow turned into next week. And next week turned into nothing."

A young man telling his story to his new friend | Source: Midjourney

"I get it," I said softly. "Grief has a way of doing that."

Nathan took a slow sip of his coffee. "My savings dried up. The rent piled up. And the landlord wasn’t interested in my excuses. So I left. Packed what I could, and started crashing with friends, in shelters... whatever I could manage."

I stared at him, taking it all in.

An older man looking at his friend | Source: Midjourney

And here I was, thinking I was the only one suffering from loneliness, and Nathan was barely keeping his head above water.

But I didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Some wounds, I knew, needed time before they could be healed.