It started with two simple words.
“Hi there.”
The voice was cheerful, almost musical, like the first rays of morning sun slipping through half-open curtains. Jamie looked up from the park bench, blinking away the fog of thoughts that had been swirling in her head all morning.
A stranger stood in front of her — tall, with a lopsided smile, and wearing a mustard-yellow sweater that looked like it had survived both the ’80s and an accidental trip through a hot dryer.
“Hi,” Jamie replied, her voice uncertain. She wasn’t in the habit of talking to strangers in parks, especially not when she was knee-deep in self-pity over life’s recent curveballs.
The stranger sat down on the other end of the bench without asking. Not in a threatening way — more like someone who thought benches were public property, which they were.
“I’m Leo,” he said, pulling a small paper bag from his coat pocket. “Want a walnut muffin?”
Jamie hesitated. Her brain listed all the reasons why accepting baked goods from strangers was a terrible idea. But her stomach, having skipped breakfast in solidarity with her bad mood, staged a protest.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
They sat in silence for a while, unwrapping muffins and watching a couple of kids try to convince a stubborn pigeon to be their friend.
“You look like you’re thinking about fifty things at once,” Leo said suddenly.
Jamie laughed dryly. “Only fifty? I’m going easy on myself today.”
“Work stuff?”
“Life stuff,” she said, breaking the muffin in half. “You know… the kind of problems that don’t have neat solutions.”
Leo nodded as though he did know.
The Muffin Theory
“Can I tell you my theory?” he asked, wiping crumbs from his sweater.
Jamie shrugged. “Sure.”
“It’s about muffins.”
“I’m listening.”
“Most people,” Leo said, “eat a muffin the way they live their lives — they start with the top. All the sweet, fluffy, easy parts. But eventually, they get to the bottom, which is denser, tougher, and less fun. Some people give up halfway and throw it out. Others power through. Me?” He grinned. “I start with the bottom.”
Jamie frowned. “Why?”
“Because if I eat the hard part first, the rest is easy. Life feels lighter. Sweeter. Less… exhausting.”
“That’s an oddly optimistic way to eat carbs,” Jamie said, but she found herself smiling.
“Maybe,” Leo said. “But it works for more than muffins.”
A Small Ripple
They sat there longer than Jamie expected, talking about everything from bad weather to childhood pets. She learned that Leo worked at a small bookshop a few streets away, that he liked terrible puns, and that he believed every person you meet leaves behind a ‘ripple’ in your life — small or large.
“You ever think,” he said, “that a tiny hello could change someone’s whole day?”
Jamie thought about it. “I guess… but usually I’m too wrapped up in my own mess to notice.”
“Most people are,” Leo said. “But sometimes, if you slow down enough, you notice the ripple.”
A wind picked up, scattering yellow leaves around their feet. Jamie glanced at her watch. She had planned to go home after the park, curl up under a blanket, and wallow in her worries. But now… she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
One Step Sideways
Before leaving, Leo pointed to a nearby café.
“They do the best hot chocolate in the city,” he said. “Not too sweet. Not too bitter. You should try it sometime.”
“Maybe I will,” Jamie said, tucking the rest of her muffin into her bag.
“Good.” He stood, brushed off his hands, and gave her a parting grin. “See you around.”
She didn’t ask for his number. She didn’t even know if she’d see him again. But something in her chest felt lighter as she walked away.
Weeks Later
Jamie found herself outside the bookshop on a rainy Thursday afternoon. The bell over the door jingled as she stepped inside. Warm light spilled over shelves stacked with novels, travel guides, and cookbooks with impossibly beautiful photos.
Leo was behind the counter, flipping through a dog-eared paperback. He looked up, surprised.
“Hi there,” he said again, with that same musical warmth.
Jamie laughed. “Hi yourself. I tried that hot chocolate.”
“And?”
“You were right,” she admitted. “Best in the city.”
He closed the book and leaned on the counter. “You know, most people say that and never come back to tell me. You must be one of the good ones.”
She rolled her eyes. “I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
They ended up talking for over an hour — about books, travel dreams, and the absurdity of adult life. By the time Jamie left, she carried not only a new novel but also a quiet sense of comfort she hadn’t felt in months.
The Ripple Grows
Over the next few weeks, she found herself stopping by the shop more often. Sometimes they’d just chat for a few minutes. Sometimes they’d grab coffee. There was no grand romance, no sudden life-changing event — just a steady, easy friendship that felt like a warm blanket on a cold day.
And somewhere along the way, Jamie realized her problems hadn’t disappeared… but they didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.
Maybe it was the muffins. Maybe it was the hot chocolate. Maybe it was just that someone had said “Hi there” on a day she needed it most.
A Year Later
It was early autumn again. The leaves were beginning to turn gold. Jamie sat on the same park bench, sipping coffee, when a young man shuffled past, looking like the world had just handed him a pile of bad news.
She hesitated. Then she smiled.
“Hi there,” she said.
He looked up, startled, and gave a small nod. “Uh… hi.”
Jamie reached into her bag and pulled out a muffin.
“Walnut?” she offered.
His lips twitched in the smallest smile. “Sure.”
And just like that, another ripple began.
