Words can hurt more than knives, yet the proper person can soothe it. Three affluent women mocked a waitress for “smelling poor,” quieting the room. Nothing happened until my partner stood up and changed everything.
Eira here, and I never thought a malfunctioning library printer would lead me to someone who would change my life. Tavian was quiet but powerful, which caught my attention. I thought I knew him, but one evening at a posh restaurant proved me wrong.
I had a bad day where everything went wrong. My coffee spilled all over my backpack, my bus broke down on the way to school, and then a stubborn library printer fought me like a cruel joke.
The machine flashed angrily and printed half a page before groaning. I punched its side, muttering, “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Behind me, some students waited, their impatience louder than the printer.
Then a tall man with unkempt brown hair and a calm, even mischievous smile left the queue. I didn’t get laughed at or annoyed by him. He kneeled beside the printer like it was an issue he wanted to fix.
“Can I give it a try?” he asked, his quiet, steady voice making you trust him immediately.
“Go for it,” I sighed, backing up. But good luck. This beast hates me.”
He laughed quietly at the mess, not at me, and tapped two buttons like he’d done it a million times. The machine hummed, spit out the paper, and started operating again in seconds, like it hadn’t been bothering me for 15 minutes.
“Magic,” I muttered, eyes wide.
“Not magic,” he shrugged. “I work IT.”
It seemed to explain everything. It sort of did. He could fix equipment, but his quiet, patient certainty made me feel like things may be okay for the first time that day.
I met him again a week later and didn’t miss out. After printing my notes easily, I saw him with his laptop at a corner table. Walked over with my papers as a thank-you.
I said, “Hey,” too eagerly. Thank you for saving me from that nasty printer last time. Owe you one.”
He smiled calmly and continued, “You don’t owe me anything. Would you like to get coffee with me to say thanks?
After exchanging numbers, we started drinking coffee. Dinners followed coffee. Dinners become true dates, where time fades because being together is so effortless.
Tavian wasn’t cocky. He avoided loud gestures and stupid lines. Small, continuous acts of kindness: bringing my favorite muffin without asking, escorting me home when it poured, mending my laptop without making me feel stupid for breaking it.
I felt like I knew him forever after three months. When he claimed he’d booked a table at one of the city’s fanciest restaurants, I knew it wasn’t for the lights or drinks. His calm manner of conveying, this matters.
Though scared, I was excited for this huge moment. It felt significant.
The usual easy chatting, laughter between bites, and Tavian comfort made dinner great. The restaurant changed ambiance midway through dessert when we laughed about how he got locked out of a workroom because he grabbed the wrong keycard.
Three elegantly dressed women were laughing loudly at a nearby table, cutting through the soothing music.
A sparkling-jewelry-covered one frowned when the waitress brought their plates. “Ugh, do you smell that?” she scowled, waving her menu. Her odor is poor. Like a bus rider. Is anyone hired here?”
The second woman smiled into her wine. “Forget the smell—check her shoes. They’re exhausted. Can you imagine working here without decent shoes?
A third laughed cruelly. Her tips surely make up her paycheck. Poor animal probably survives on leftover fries.”
They laughed loudly in the beautiful lounge, each phrase hitting harder.
A young waitress stopped dead, shaking her tray. Setting down the dishes made her face flushed, her eyes shining, and her lips twitching like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.
The restaurant was silent. Everyone heard the insults but did nothing. The wrath in my stomach caused my fork to slide and hit my plate.
When Tavian pushed back his chair. Wood scraping marble broke the silence boldly. He approached to their table tall and serene, with a set expression. Everyone in the restaurant watched.
“Excuse me,” Tavian murmured, his crisp, steady voice breaking through the silence. That sounded cruel, do you realize? She works. She serves you. You think mocking her makes you important? It doesn’t. You appear small.”
She blinks like she was slapped. Her pals’ arrogant smiles vanished, their laughter choking.
The young waitress watched Tavian with wide eyes and shivering lips, holding her tray like a shield. She said “Thank you” shakily, and my heart broke.
Then something fantastic happened.
A nearby tableman rose up after pushing back his chair. “He’s right,” he said loudly across the room. “That sucked.”
Men stood one after another. Clapping ensued as half the restaurant stood up. The sound filled the room and bounced off the chandeliers until it was everywhere.
Jewelry-wearing woman paled. She shifted in her seat, searching for support. Nobody did. The tone had changed and persisted.
The manager rushed over, visibly worried. His voice was tight: “What’s going on here?”
Tavian kept going. He pointed at the women and stated, “These three thought it was okay to embarrass your waitress in front of everyone.”
The women gasped, furious. “We’re regulars here,” the jewelry-wearer said. “We spend a lot here. We have every right—
“No,” Tavian assertively interrupted her. You don’t. There must be many regulars. No one should be trashed. Not here. Not anywhere.”
Support rippled through the throng as they muttered and agreed.
The manager stood straighter, his jaw set in decision. Cold and clear, he addressed the women. “Ladies, please leave. I don’t want your money, so your meals are free. I repeat: you’re not welcome back.”
The room gasped at his powerful words. The three women gazed, mouths open, losing confidence in front of everyone.
They were too astonished to argue. Finally, holding their purses like shields, they stood and stormed out, their heels clicking like gunfire on the marble floor.
Nobody opposed them. Nobody advocated for them. The restaurant relaxed when the heavy doors closed.
Tavian slowly returned to our table, sitting like he’d taken a break. My hands were shaking and my heart was so rapid I could hear it.
As I tried to calm down, he leaned closer and said, “I’ll be right back. I want to go to the manager to make sure she doesn’t lose her job because she done nothing wrong.”
He got up again and went to the manager’s entrance before I could speak. Waitress hovered, nervously twisting her apron and tensing her shoulders for problems.
I observed Tavian’s low, calm voice. The manager nodded and softened with each phrase. The waitress looked between them, scared and hopeful.
Five minutes later, Tavian returned. His eyes sparked with intent despite his serene countenance. He sat down and said, “She’s okay. The management knows she did nothing wrong. He assured her job security.”
Relief was so intense I could hardly breathe. My chest was full, my face warmed, and I stared at him with more than pride.
I knew I had someone unique then. Someone who fought cruel individuals and followed up with kindness.
Under the warm golden light of that restaurant, as pleasant chatter filled the room again, I thought: this night showed me everything about him. He acted, not just talked.