I went grocery shopping at 2 a.m. Two men kept eye contact: the cashier and another. I paid quickly and departed. I heard footsteps on my way home and saw the dude. “Why so fast, miss?” He remained behind me as I hurried.

A scream broke the silence. I turned and was astonished to see the cashier racing toward me, hobbling and waving. He shouted, “Stop!” Do not accompany him!” My heart raced. The man behind me froze. I was unsure who to believe, as one was running at me with blood on his face, while the other was just standing there.

The man behind me raised his hands to appear innocent. “He’s crazy,” he remarked. “I did nothing. He came at me with a broom after I went outside to smoke.”

His shirt sleeve was torn, the cashier was panting. “He was lurking in the store two hours before he approached you,” he claimed. I recognized him. He was banned for pestering women.”

I wavered between them, unsure what to do. Not to jump to conclusions, but the man following me and asking “Why so fast,” terrified me out. I slowly left toward the register.

Man behind me didn’t chase. He stayed there for a moment, then grumbled and ran down the street.

I wanted to leave quickly. “Reggie,” the cashier, glanced at me and said, “I’m sorry I scared you running like that. I saw him depart after you and couldn’t let it happen.”

I sincerely thanked him and we walked back to the store. “I’ve seen that guy before,” he remarked. “He arrived last week. Stared at a girl in the cereal aisle for 10 minutes. Made her weep. She ran without her basket.”

When we returned to the store, Reggie had cleansed his arm with tissues and alcohol wipes from behind the counter. Though wobbly, I sat on a bench by the magazine rack. He asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah. I suspect so, I said. “That could’ve ended differently.”

Reggie looked down after nodding. I rarely get believed when I tell something’s wrong with someone. You did. Thanks for believing me.”

A slight smile. “Thank you for chasing me.”

I went home, checking my shoulder twice, but the street was quiet. I had trouble sleeping afterward. I kept thinking about how narrow the line between normal and deadly is. Between buying frozen peas and possibly never returning home.

The next morning, I prepared coffee and pretended everything was normal. Something about Reggie stuck. Both his actions and sincerity. Most wouldn’t have cared.

I returned to the store two days later. I debated whether to thank you again or check in. Reggie was wiping the counter. He grinned at me. “You got back,” he said.

A laugh. “Yeah. Still alive.”

We chatted. Quite slow that night. Reggie worked two jobs. This and an early morning bakery shift across town. He dreamed of opening a bookstore café.

“That’s kind of perfect,” I remarked. “Coffee and words.”

Yes, he smiled. “Something quiet. Peaceful. People feel safe.”

‘safe’ lingered longer than others.

In the following weeks, I came in late, sometimes just to talk. We never spoke about the man from that night again, but it connected us. Reggie was nice, silent, and listened while I talked about books, terrible dates, and office turmoil.

I left him muffins from my favorite shop and a used book I thought he’d like. He always seemed shocked, like no one had done it for him before.

I gave him a tiny brown leather notebook one night. “For your café plans,” I said.

He handled it like a precious item. “No one ever takes my dreams seriously,” he remarked.

Yes, I do.”

Something sparked in his eyes as he smiled. Something he held back.

The dude from that night reappeared a week later.

He appeared again in a parking lot as I walked home from a friend’s apartment. He didn’t comply this time. He watched me pass, like he was memorizing.

I informed Reggie the following day. He stiffened and answered the phone. Calling my cousin. He’s police.”

I hesitated. “Is that necessary?”

Reggie regarded me. This guy keeps going. You believe you’re fine, but he waits until no one’s around one night.”

No argument. Called his cousin, explained everything. To my surprise, a patrol car began parking across from the store during late shifts within days. Though subtle, it keeps attention on the spot.

After that, Reggie disappeared.

I saw someone at the register one night. Pink-haired girl chewing gum. I asked Reggie about break. She stated he resigned.

I blinked. “What? He quit?”

She shrugged. “No show. Left note. That was three days ago.”

It felt wrong.

Texted him. No reply. I phoned. The call went to voicemail.

Restless, I returned home. Next day, I visited the bakery he stated he worked at. He wasn’t spotted either.

I contacted his police cousin. I saved that night’s number. He said, pausing when I mentioned Reggie.

“He didn’t tell?” his cousin said.

“Tell what?”

“He’s hospitalized. Someone broke into his flat. Attempt to steal laptop. “It became violent.”

My stomach sank. “Is he okay?”

He’s steady. He has a concussion and broken arm. I didn’t want to concern anyone.”

I gave him flowers and his favorite cinnamon bun the next morning. His face brightened up at me.

“I thought I’d scared you off,” he laughed.

I sat next him. I won’t be scared by you. Remember I owe you?

We talked for hours. Reggie’s nighttime companion followed him home. For days. Reggie had observed him several times but didn’t say anything to avoid guilting me. The same dude broke in. He waited for Reggie home and ambushed him in the stairway.

Reggie defeated him and knocked him out long enough to call for aid.

“They caught him,” Reggie remarked. “He won’t leave soon.”

Not knowing what to say. A part of me felt bad. The dude followed me first. Reggie merely shook his head.

“Some people are drawn to the light, and some try to destroy it,” he remarked. Not that we stop being light.”

It hit me hard.

Upon his hospital discharge, I helped him move into his apartment. Small but cozy. His bookcase featured paperbacks and a corkboard with café layout designs. A page contained pen coffee cups and quotes in the corners.

Still dreaming? I requested.

“Every day,” he said.

I helped him open the café a year later. He termed it “Chapter One.”

The modest store between a laundromat and a secondhand clothing store had heart. Window plants. Mismatched chairs. Walls with handwritten customer notes. Shelf after shelf of books.

People came for the coffee and Reggie’s gentle warmth, which filled the area. He never revealed his fate. He didn’t need to. He treated everyone who entered with care and respect.

Sometimes, when we closed shop and sat on the sidewalk drinking leftover hot cocoa, he said, “You know, I thought I’d lost everything that night.”

I’d smile at him. But you didn’t. You gained everything important.”

Life doesn’t always end as planned. Occasionally, it provides us better ones.

That night at 2 a.m. could have been tragic. It started something good—healing, purpose, and a closer bond.

The actual twist may be that the scariest situations lead to the safest locations.

If you’re reading this and have experienced a dark, uncertain night, hold on. Someone like Reggie may be in your tale.

Share if you believe in light after darkness. Like it if you’ve met someone who supported you when it counted.