A Chance Encounter

The coffee shop on Maple Street wasn’t particularly remarkable. Its walls were painted a tired beige, the chairs wobbled slightly, and the Wi-Fi was as unreliable as a cat’s affection. Still, for Eleanor, it was her haven. She came every Friday at 8 a.m., armed with her notebook and a desire to people-watch while pretending to write the next great novel.

Today, however, her routine was disrupted by the arrival of him.

He burst in like a gust of wind, disheveled and out of breath. His scarf trailed behind him like a rebellious ribbon, and his glasses were askew. He looked around frantically, clutching a cardboard box. Eleanor pretended not to notice, but her curiosity betrayed her as she peeked over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Excuse me,” he said, approaching her table. “I need a moment of your time. This is an emergency.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to ask me for money, I’ll have you know I barely have enough to buy this overpriced latte.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” He placed the box on her table with a dramatic thud. “It’s about—” he paused for effect, “—my hamster.”

“Your… hamster?”

“Yes, Pudding. She’s in this box.”

Eleanor stared at the box, half expecting it to explode. “Why is your hamster in a coffee shop?”

“I had to bring her to the vet, but my car broke down. And now—well, I think she’s judging me.”

As if on cue, a tiny, whiskered face peeked out of a hole in the box. Pudding was, in fact, giving them both a withering look that seemed to say, You’re all fools.

Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh. “What exactly do you need from me?”

“Could you watch her for just five minutes? I need to call a tow truck, and she’s… an escape artist.”

Eleanor hesitated. Watching a stranger’s hamster wasn’t exactly on her to-do list, but the sheer absurdity of the situation was hard to resist. “Fine. But if she runs away, you owe me a new notebook. She looks like the type who’d chew through paper.”

As the man darted outside, Eleanor found herself face-to-face with Pudding. The hamster stared at her, then climbed onto the rim of the box.

“Don’t even think about it,” Eleanor warned.

Pudding blinked.

Minutes later, the man returned, triumphant. “Tow truck’s on the way!”

Eleanor handed him the box. “Your hamster is surprisingly well-behaved.”

“Of course she is. She only causes trouble for me.” He smiled sheepishly. “Thanks for helping. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it. Just… keep her away from coffee shops in the future.”

As he left, Eleanor realized she hadn’t asked his name. But as she turned back to her notebook, she found herself smiling. Maybe not all disruptions were bad.

And maybe, just maybe, Pudding had been right to judge them both.