"You okay?"
He gave a small smile. "I've been better."
The rain intensified. Cars sprayed water across the street. Maya looked around. "Do you have somewhere warm to go?"
The man hesitated, then shrugged. "I suppose, eventually."
That answer told her everything. She sat beside him on the wet bench, ignoring the rain, ignoring the cold, ignoring the fact that she was already running late.
"My name's Maya."
The man looked surprised. "Henry."
"Nice to meet you, Henry."
He laughed softly. "You're probably the first person who said that all day."
Something inside Maya tightened. Nobody should sound that grateful just because someone spoke to them. She studied him carefully: there was intelligence in his eyes, education, dignity—but also exhaustion, the kind that had nothing to do with weather.
"You eaten today?"
Henry smiled. "That's quite a question."
"Usually means no."
He laughed again, a little louder this time. "No. Not really."
Maya stood immediately. "Stay here."
Before he could respond, she jogged toward the restaurant. Five minutes later, she returned carrying a takeout container. Steam drifted into the cold air: chicken soup, fresh bread, coffee. The kitchen staff had packed it for her when she explained.
Henry stared at the food, then at her. "You bought this?"
"It's dinner."
His voice grew quieter. "I can't pay you."
"I didn't ask."