The Price of Trust

When it happened, I knew that it happened for a reason.

She looked at me with those hopeful eyes, a playful smile on her lips. "Can you get me some extra French fries?" she asked. Her voice was light, almost teasing, but I couldn't act as if I didn't hear. I wanted to do something for her, even if it was something as simple as an extra serving of fries.

Without thinking much, I called the waiter. "Can we get some extra fries?" I asked confidently.

The waiter gave me a blank stare before responding, "Sure, but it'll cost extra."

That was when it started. I hesitated, feeling a little embarrassed that I didn't know the fries weren't complimentary. Before I could say anything, she laughed-a sharp, unexpected sound that stung more than I thought it would.

"You thought they were free?" she scoffed, nudging her friend. The whole table erupted into laughter.

I sat there, frozen, the warmth in my chest slowly turning into something else-something heavy. For them, it was just a joke, a moment of fun. But deep inside, it felt different. It felt like I had paid a price for trust.

Was it wrong to want to do something for someone? Was it foolish to believe that kindness would be met with kindness?

I pulled out the money and paid, not for the fries, but for the lesson. A lesson that trust sometimes comes with a price.

And blindly trusting? That always costs the most.
Yes, it happened for a reason. A reason so profound.