Can I eat with you, the homeless girl asked the millionaire. His response left everyone in tears. The clink of fine silverware and soft murmur of conversations floated through the elegant courtyard of Le Jardin, the city’s most exclusive restaurant.

Crystal glasses sparkled in the evening light, and the air was heavy with the aroma of roasted lamb and truffle butter. At one corner table, Thomas Reed sat alone. A man in his early 30s, Thomas wore a crisp tailored suit and the distant look of someone bored with luxury.

Plates of gourmet food sat untouched in front of him. Perfectly seared scallops, freshly baked rolls, and a glass of Chardonnay that reflected the golden glow of the candles. He had everything, wealth, power, influence.

But tonight, as he scrolled through an endless stream of emails, he felt nothing. Outside the wrought iron gates of Le Jardin, Layla stood shivering. The little black girl couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Her oversized tattered dress clung to her thin body, and her tiny bare feet were streaked with dirt. Her stomach growled painfully, but she ignored it. She had been watching diners for over an hour, hoping someone might hand her leftovers as they left.

But no one even looked her way. A waiter carrying out a tray of half-eaten food paused to toss it into a bin near the alley. Layla crept forward.

Stop right there, girl, the waiter barked, shooing her away like a stray animal. Don’t you dare touch that. Filthy street kids don’t belong here.

Layla flinched and darted back behind a column, tears welling up in her tired eyes, but her hunger was stronger than her fear. Through the open patio doors, she spotted a man in a navy suit, sitting alone at a corner table. In front of him were plates of untouched food, bread rolls, roasted chicken, and even a small chocolate tart…

Her mouth watered. Just ask, she whispered to herself, just once. She summoned every ounce of courage and walked barefoot across the stone tiles of the patio.

Gasps rippled through the restaurant. Where did she come from? Whispered a woman in pearls. Isn’t security watching the gates? A man muttered.

The head waiter strode forward, his polished shoes clicking angrily. Little girl, you don’t belong here. Leave immediately.

But before he could grab her arm, Layla stepped forward, her big brown eyes locked on Thomas. Sir, she said, her voice trembling. Thomas looked up from his phone, startled.

The little girl’s small, fragile figure seemed wildly out of place against the black tablecloths and glittering chandeliers. Can I eat with you? The waiter froze mid-step. A hush fell over the patio.

Thomas stared at her, his mind spinning. Please, Layla added softly, clutching her torn dress. I’m sorry to ask.

I haven’t eaten in two days. Sir, the waiter said sharply, do you want me to remove her? Thomas didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on Layla’s sunken cheeks, her quivering lips.

Something inside him shifted. Years ago, he’d been a boy like her, hungry, dirty, invisible to the world. He remembered standing outside bakeries, praying someone would spare a crust of bread.

No one had. Sir, the waiter pressed again, shall I call security? No, Thomas said suddenly, his voice louder than intended. Everyone turned to look at him.

T

Excuse me? You heard me, the best you have, and make it quick. Layla’s eyes widened. Really? She whispered.

Yes, what’s your name, sweetie? Layla, she answered. Thomas knelt, so he was at her eye level. Come on, Layla, sit with me, gasps echoed around the patio.

Is he serious? A woman whispered. A millionaire dining with a beggar child. This is disgraceful, muttered another man.

Thomas ignored them all. He pulled out the chair next to him and gently patted the seat. Sit down, sweetheart.

homas pushed his chair back and stood. Bring another plate, he said firmly. The waiter blinked.

Tonight, you’re my guest. As Layla cautiously climbed into the chair, Thomas turned to the waiter and bring warm bread first, she’s freezing. The waiter hesitated, then hurried off, embarrassed.

Thomas looked around at the other diners, their faces flushed with judgment and discomfort. You’re all staring, he said loudly. Maybe you should ask yourselves why a little girl had to beg for food in the first place.

The entire restaurant fell silent. Layla’s tiny hands wrapped around the warm bread roll when it arrived. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered, thank you, sir.

I thought no one cared. Thomas’s own throat tightened as he watched her take her first bite. For the first time in years, he felt something deep in his chest, a flicker of warmth he hadn’t known he’d still possessed.

The restaurant patio remained hushed, the sound of forks scraping plates gone entirely. Layla sat stiffly in the chair beside Thomas, her small hands clutching a piece of warm bread. She stared at it for a moment, as if trying to believe it was real, before taking a tentative bite.

Tears rolled down her dirt-streaked cheeks as the soft dough melted in her mouth. Slow down, Thomas said gently, pushing a glass of water toward her. There’s plenty, you don’t need to rush.

Across the room, murmurs rippled. Is he really letting her eat with him, a man whispered. This is absurd, a woman in pearls muttered, though her voice faltered.

One older couple lowered their gaze, ashamed. The waiter returned with a plate piled high with roasted chicken, vegetables, and buttery mashed potatoes. He set it down in front of Layla and stepped back awkwardly, avoiding her eyes.