The dream is more important. — What dream? — he asked in surprise.
— When my husband was still alive, we used to walk past your restaurant and dream that one day we’d have enough money to come inside and order a meal. He’s gone now, and I managed to save a little… enough to fulfill that dream at least once. The waiter froze, unable to respond.
Tears glistened in his eyes, but he quickly turned away, pretending to write something in his notepad. The woman quietly finished her soup, carefully set down her spoon, took out her old purse, and asked for the bill. — Today I’ll pay for your dream, — the waiter said softly, leaning toward her.
— And I hope that when I’m old, there’ll be someone as kind as you by my side. The hall, which had echoed with laughter just moments earlier, fell silent. People lowered their eyes, ashamed of their behavior.
The old woman simply thanked him, smiled, and slowly walked out of the restaurant, leaving behind a warm silence — in which, for the first time that evening, one could hear the beating of a human heart.
