He really did look like a tourist, with a camera around his neck and a [] sticking out of his tote bag.

The portly man sat on the terrace, sipping a [] and pretending to look at a brochure. His sunglasses masked his eyes, but I knew he wasn't looking at the pamphlet: he hadn't turned a page for the last ten minutes.

As I brought him his [], he coughed up a "thank you" and looked at me briefly. I tried not to stare at the tiny scar across his left eyebrow.

I walked back inside with my empty tray, shaking my head. He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place him.

Then it hit me. He was the mysterious stranger who helped me out of the [], just before it exploded. I rushed back to his table.

He was gone.

I moved his saucer and found his tip, along with a card:

I am deeply indebted to you. The night of your car accident, I was on my way to rob a jewelry store. Saving your life brought things back in perspective. I now live an honest life, thanks to you. God bless you! Mr. D.

I shivered. The night of my car accident, I was heading for an interview in a []. Seeing human kindness through his heroic gesture turned my life around and I've perceived this incident as fate since then.

I said a silent prayer for him and got back to work, smiling.