Like any other day, I woke up to the same sound I had heard for years—the buzz of my alarm clock.

After realizing it was time to wake up, I lay there, just listening to the quiet of the house. There was no sound from the kitchen, no scent of coffee wafting from downstairs, and no soft hum of a woman getting ready for her day.

I turned my head toward the nightstand, where a framed picture of Anna sat. She had been my wife and my best friend. She had made this house feel like home.

Anna had been gone for five years now, though sometimes it felt like just yesterday.

I sighed and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Reaching for my phone out of habit, I checked the screen. No messages. No missed calls.

I didn't know why I still checked my phone. It had been years since Michael or Sarah had called without me being the one to reach out first.

At first, they had tried. After Anna passed, they made an effort to stay in touch. Michael would call every Sunday, and Sarah would fly in for the holidays.

But then, life moved on.

Michael's job became more demanding, and Sarah got married and moved far away. The calls turned into texts, the visits into excuses, and eventually, silence. It settled in like an unwelcome guest.

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

With a groan, I forced myself to my feet and shuffled to the kitchen. Breakfast was just toast and black coffee.

Eating alone didn’t feel like much of an occasion. I knew Anna would’ve scolded me for skipping eggs, but what was the point of cooking when it was just me?

Once I finished, I rinsed my mug, grabbed my keys, and headed out the door.

My old truck groaned as I turned the ignition, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were both just trying to get through another day.

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

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I stepped behind the register.

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

Most people didn’t even look up at you. They just stood there, glued to their phones as you scanned their groceries.

At first, I used to feel bad about it. But now, I was used to blending into the background, a faceless part of the everyday routine.

The shift dragged on as usual. Hours blurred together while I scanned items, bagged them, and pasted on polite smiles for customers who didn’t even look my way.

Then, in the middle of the afternoon rush, a young man placed his groceries on the conveyor belt.

He looked to be in his early thirties, wearing a plain gray T-shirt and jeans.

As I reached for the first item, he spoke. "You look like you could use a coffee break."

I paused and glanced up. Most people barely muttered a "hello," let alone started a conversation.

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

He chuckled. "Fair point. Long shift?"

"Same as always."

I glanced at him, expecting him to be staring at his phone, distracted like the rest of them. But he wasn’t. He was looking at me, like he actually cared about my answer.

I wasn’t sure when the last time was someone had looked at me like that.

The register beeped as I finished scanning the rest of his groceries. "That'll be $23.76."

He handed me a twenty and a five, then leaned on the counter. "I'm Ryan, by the way."

"John," I smiled.

"Nice to meet you, John." He grabbed his bags, but didn’t leave just yet. "Take it easy, alright?"

"Yeah," I said, though it came out more like a question than a statement.

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

Except he wasn’t like any other customer.

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

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

At least, that’s what I thought.

Ryan started showing up more often after that.

At first, I thought it was just coincidence. You know, some people liked to stick to the same store. But after the third or fourth time, I realized he wasn’t just coming to buy groceries.

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

Other times, he’d linger and chat while I scanned his groceries.

One evening, I walked outside after my shift and found him sitting on a bench near the parking lot.

"You stalking me, kid?" I asked jokingly.

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

"What about?" I asked, sitting beside him.

"Umm…" he exhaled. "My dad."

I didn’t say anything.

"He passed away a few months ago," Ryan continued. "I barely saw him before it happened. Life got in the way."

His voice was casual, but I could hear the weight of regret behind it. The kind that settled deep in your chest, a quiet ache in the middle of everything.

I knew that feeling.

"Yeah?" I said finally.

Ryan looked at me. "Yeah. I always told myself I’d visit more. Call more. But work, stress, excuses… you know how it is."

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

We sat there in silence for a few minutes before I spoke again.

"My kids used to call all the time," I admitted. "Michael, my son, would check in every Sunday. And Sarah would fly in for the holidays. But now… I'm lucky if I get a text."

"Does it bother you?" he asked.

I let out a dry laugh. "I tell myself it doesn’t. But some days… yeah."

Ryan nodded as if he understood. Maybe he did.

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

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

"Sure, kid," I said.

That was just the start. Ryan and I began hanging out after my shift regularly.

At first, I thought it was just friendly conversation. But over the next few weeks, I started noticing things about him.

Some nights, he looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept. Other times, his clothes looked worn. He always carried a backpack, but I never saw him take anything out of it.

One evening, I decided to ask.

"So, what do you do for a living, kid?"

Ryan hesitated. Not like people do when they’re searching for words, but like they’re avoiding saying them altogether.

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

I raised an eyebrow. "That means you’re between jobs, or…?"

He let out a breath and leaned back in the booth. "I lost my job. Then my apartment. Been crashing wherever I can."

I put my cup down slowly. "What happened?"

Ryan ran a hand through his hair. "My dad got sick last year. It was bad. He needed someone to take care of him. He was proud, didn’t want to admit it, but I couldn’t just walk away. So, I took time off work. At first, it was just a few days… then weeks. I thought I could juggle both—being there for him and keeping my job."

He gave a humorless chuckle. "Turns out, you can’t. My boss was patient, but in sales, it’s all about numbers, and mine were dropping. Eventually, they let me go."

I nodded, listening.

"At first, I wasn’t too worried. I had savings. Figured I’d find something quick. But then my dad got worse. By the time he passed… I just shut down. Kept telling myself I’d look for work 'tomorrow,' but tomorrow turned into next week… and then it kept turning into nothing." He gestured vaguely.

I knew that feeling.

"My savings ran out. Rent piled up. The landlord wasn’t interested in excuses. So… I left. Packed what I could carry and started crashing where I could. Shelters, friends’ couches… nothing permanent."

I stared at him, absorbing his words.

Here I was thinking I was the only one drowning in loneliness, and all this time, the guy sitting across from me was barely keeping his head above water.

But I didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Because some wounds take time before they’re ready to be touched.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I lay there thinking about Ryan. How he had been the first person in years to make me feel seen. Despite everything he was going through, he still cared. He still showed up.

And I thought... What if I could do something for him?

But the question lingered: what could I offer? I wasn’t exactly rolling in money myself. My house was small, bills were tight, and I wasn’t sure what difference I could make.

But I knew what it felt like to have no one.

And that was a feeling I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

By morning, I had made up my mind.

That evening, as we sat in the diner, I put my coffee down and looked him square in the eyes.

"How would you feel about staying with me for a while?" I asked.

Ryan blinked at me, obviously surprised. "Stay with you?"

"Yeah," I said. "It’s not much, but it’s a roof. And you won’t have to worry about crashing on couches anymore."

Ryan was quiet for a moment, then he nodded slowly.

"Thank you," he said, his voice soft. "I don’t even know what to say."

"You don’t have to say anything," I replied. "You just have to show up. That's enough."

And that was how Ryan came to live with me.

And somewhere in between the awkward silences, the shared meals, and the endless cups of coffee, we both learned that maybe, just maybe, we weren’t as invisible as we thought.