Ungullible

CHAPTER 5: WHOSE HANDS?

Trusting others is hard when you have trust issues, when you've been hurt or betrayed in the past. It's understandable to hesitate, to hold back. But have you ever met someone who makes you want to trust them anyway, even if they're a stranger? Like you're dangling from a cliff, and someone reaches out without knowing who you are, without asking for anything in return. That simple act of kindness, that outstretched hand; it compels you to take it. Like a glimmer of God's mercy when you feel trapped in your darkest hour.

"Just this once, okay? No more," I said firmly.

He nodded, satisfied.

"Now lead the way, Mr. Black," I said, crossing my arms.

He turned and started walking ahead. I followed, watching him from behind, curiosity tangled with suspicion. Why would a man like him care about whether I eat or not?

The walk was quiet. He didn't speak once, and somehow, that silence was comforting. I kept my thoughts to myself, though my mind was a whirlwind of questions.

Finally, we arrived. The diner was small, almost rustic, with a charm that reminded me of Mr. Krabs' shack from SpongeBob. A little bell chimed as we entered, announcing our arrival. It wasn't crowded; Monday midday, after all but faint music played in the background, adding a warm, welcoming atmosphere.

He led me to a booth tucked into the corner and waited for me to sit. He gestured politely, but I hesitated, unsure. Reluctantly, I slid into the seat across from him. He shook his head slightly and lowered himself into the booth opposite me.

I glanced around the diner. A counter lined with stools ran along one side, and a chalkboard menu hung behind it. The air smelled faintly of coffee and warm bread. A waitress in her late thirties approached, flipping open her menu book.

"What would you like to order?" she asked politely, smiling at us.

I looked at Jason, unsure if I should speak first, feeling the weight of his steady gaze across from me.

"Hm, I'll take the club sandwich and an espresso—no sugar," he told the waitress, then turned to me.

"What would you like?" he asked softly.

What would I like?

No one had ever asked me that before. People usually decided for me; assumed they knew, assumed I didn't matter enough to choose. They did what they liked and called it care.

"I... I don't know. I've never..." I trailed off, my voice shrinking under the weight of my own uncertainty.

"You've never ordered before?" he asked, clearly shocked, his eyes widening.

Here it comes, I thought. The judgment. The pity. The disappointment.

But instead, his expression softened. He smiled; slow, reassuring, like he was trying to tell me something without words.

"Hey, don't worry," he said gently. "I've got you."

The words hit me harder than I expected.

"Just tell me what you like or maybe what you're allergic to, so we can avoid that," he continued, glancing up at the menu.

Something about him felt unreal. Like the angels in Bible stories, the ones who appear when everything feels hopeless, offering help without asking for anything in return. It scared me... and yet it comforted me at the same time. He wasn't being kind because he had to. He wasn't being paid to care.

He was just... there.

"So," he said, scanning the board, "we've got banana milkshake, strawberry milkshake, mango milkshake, chocolate milkshake... and the coffees; espresso, cappuccino, mocha latte..."

He kept listing options, and before I realized it, a small smile tugged at my lips.

"I'm allergic to nuts," I said softly. "Just nuts."

I paused, then met his eyes.

"So... you can pick what you think is right. You said I should trust you."

I swallowed.

"And today, I am."

He smiled, nodded once, then turned to the waitress.
"I'll take a burger and fries with a banana milkshake along with the rest of the order."

She scribbled it down and walked away.

I turned toward the window. It was lightly tinted, just enough to blur the outside world while still letting it in. I watched people pass by each of them absorbed in their own lives, unaware of the quiet moment unfolding inside this diner. Cars sped past, heading toward destinations only they knew.

The music shifted into something softer, slower, wrapping the room in a sense of calm. I leaned back against the booth and inhaled deeply.

I'm adding this place to my list of comfort places, I thought.

Not long after, the waitress returned with our food. She poured his coffee with careful precision, her movements smooth and practiced. I watched her closely, fascinated by how effortlessly she did it, how sure she seemed of herself.

So absorbed was I that I didn't notice I was being watched.

When she left us alone, I looked down at the plate in front of me. The food looked... good. Really good. I smiled, then lifted my head to thank him, only to find his eyes already on me.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he picked up his sandwich and began to eat as though nothing had happened.

I followed suit, taking my first bite of the burger.

A soft groan escaped me before I could stop it.

Realizing what I'd done, heat rushed to my face. I glanced at him, mortified but he didn't tease me or comment. He simply continued eating, sipping his coffee like everything was normal.

I let out a quiet breath and kept eating.

When we were done, we sat there in comfortable silence. Outside, the sky had begun to soften into late afternoon hues. Students passed by in clusters, laughing, nudging each other, carefree. Watching them stirred something deep inside me.

Sadness.

I had never known that kind of childhood.

Flashback

I walked alone along the roadside; my schoolbag clutched tightly behind my back. I moved quickly, avoiding the stares of my classmates, dodging the questions they never stopped asking.

I had no friends to laugh with. No one to tease or be teased by. School was unbearable.

Teachers barely noticed me. I was invisible to authority, yet painfully visible to curious eyes; eyes that wondered who I was, what my name was, why I was always alone.

It was torture for someone like me.

End of flashback

A warmth suddenly touched my hand.

I blinked and focused on it; his hand, resting gently over mine.

I looked up.

His face held nothing but quiet compassion, as though he had felt my sadness without me saying a word.

I quickly withdrew my hand, folding my fingers together beneath the table, fidgeting.

"What was that?" I asked calmly, though my heart was anything but.

He smiled; soft, unreadable and said nothing.

Why did he do that? I wondered.
Was he trying to comfort me... or was I reading too much into it?

And for the first time in a long while, I didn't know which answer scared me more.