In the silence that followed, a soft voice spoke up from a corner booth. It belonged to an elderly man with a weathered face and kind eyes, a regular known for his quiet demeanor. “Enough,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle. The boys paused, their laughter dying in their throats as they turned to look at him.
He stood up, slowly, his joints creaking like old floorboards. “I’ve seen a lot in my time,” he continued, his voice gaining strength, “but I tell you, there’s no strength in hurting others. There’s no honor in making someone feel small.”
The air in the diner was charged, a tension that hummed like an electric wire. Clara, still trembling, watched as the man walked over to her, his steps deliberate, his presence a balm against the sting of her humiliation. He bent down and collected the pancakes from the floor, gently placing them back on her plate. “Let’s get you some fresh ones,” he said, offering Clara a reassuring smile.
